Histories: Snake God
by Amanda Swiftgold
Summary: Learn the truth of a young man's past, and of his struggle for acceptance in a cold and unforgiving world. Complete Prologue through Part Three Revised.
1. Prologue - Soul

Standard Disclaimer: Warlords, et al, belong to Sunrise. My characters and concepts (including the snake-gods) belong to me, do not use without asking. If you ask, I probably won't say no.  
First version finished August 1998. Revised July 2001.  
Hi everyone! Well, this fic isn't really historically accurate, but I've kinda made my own little corner of Japan that sort of fits in with the rest of the feudal era, but of course the elemental-named cities where the Warlords have their pre-Talpa lives probably didn't exist. I've tried to include as much of the culture stuff as I can without knowing it backwards and forwards. ^^ The revision doesn't change much, for those of you who've read this before, just adds more detail that I was too chicken to put in before, more culture stuff, and probably a few more scenes. Call it a director's cut. ~_^ However, there are no lemon scenes still; you'll find those in "Annals". I hope you enjoy my story! 

"Histories: Snake God"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Prologue - Soul 

_Attend! I tell you a tale of a feared child, a hated hero. I tell you a tale of power, of pain, of the strong, the weak, of life, and death. I tell you a tale of a soul led to darkness, in the service of a conquering power, led to light by an ancient force. Attend! This is his story..._

* * * * * 

Sekhmet ran the cloth down the blade of the old sword, polishing until the metal shone to his satisfaction. He nodded almost imperceptibly and stood, returning the sword to its place on the wall, displayed among other blades of many sizes and lengths. It briefly glowed, and he peered quizzically at it for a moment before shoving the thought out of his mind as a trick of the light. Sekhmet knew that he'd had the sword since he was young, and that it had been his first weapon, but couldn't remember just when or how he'd acquired it, or why it might glow. It didn't matter - he knew that too. 

Moving toward the door, suddenly he stopped and glanced down, hands unconsciously brushing the front of his lightweight yukata. A familiar weight was missing from his neck, and he glanced around the room quickly. He must have forgotten to put it back on after his bath 

Sekhmet finally spotted the mass of gold on a nearby table and picked it up, watching as gravity made it twist out into the form of a green orb on the end of a thick chain. The orb was the size of a large marble and was held in its place by two intertwining snakes made of gold. He smiled. 

_Hello, Father, _he thought at the orb with amusement. _Are you awake today? Must be so boring in there, all alone, for so long..._ Sekhmet chuckled and grasped the pendant's thin chain with both hands to fasten it around his neck, and as he lifted it the orb began to pulsate with a green glow. 

Sekhmet lowered his hands slowly and peered at the small green jewel in the palm of his hand suspiciously. Suddenly, as if commanded, the golden snakes began to writhe, slithering out from around the orb and twining around Sekhmet's fingers. He jerked back in surprise and tried to pull them away with his other hand. There were two sharp pains in his finger and he looked at his hand blankly, as if he was watching this happen to someone else. 

The snakes' golden fangs were completely buried in his skin, and a sudden burning spread throughout him, starting at those points. Sekhmet felt all the thoughts in his head dissipate like mist in the sunlight and sank to his knees as the emerald glow of the orb grew brighter. He stared, unable to look away, and the light flared and blinded him, shimmering colors swirling before his vision. 

He saw faces appear before his mind's eye, people he knew he should recognize and yet did not, things he had hidden away for centuries, buried deep within him where he'd thought they could never return from. The black-haired woman with a sharp face and a tired, hidden smile; the man with a dark orange beard and cruelty in his eyes; the girl who stirred such feelings in him emotions he couldn't remember ever having felt before. An aching began in Sekhmet's heart, an aching that awakened the memories of all he had wanted to leave, of all he had suffered. 

He tried to close his eyes, to block out the pain, the returning of the hatred he had endured, but found he could not. Sekhmet whispered softly, a sound that hardly broke through the blanket of silence in the room, "No! I don't want this Father, leave me in peace!" 

He felt anew the lashing of the whip against his back, tried to fight against the angry fist and the biting word, listened to the screams as everything he had known for so long died, heard his own mocking laughter as he killed them all. 

There, kneeling in the darkness of his chambers in the Dynasty stronghold, Sekhmet remembered 


	2. Part One - Pain

Standard Disclaimer: Warlords, et al, belong to Sunrise. My characters and concepts (including the snake-gods) belong to me, do not use without asking. If you ask, I probably won't say no. 

"Histories: Snake God"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part One - Pain 

The forest was deep and dark, a gloomy, eerie wood that the people in the town below didn't dare to enter, twisted trees and thick foliage encroaching upon walls that could only just hold it back. It was the evil twin, the Dark Sister, the antithesis of the forest on the other side of the valley, where the children played and the men hunted. In this world, beauty was worshipped and ugliness scorned. The Dark Sister was cursed and alone. It suited the boy. The forest was his mother, his self. The forest, deep and dark, hid him from the hating world. 

Sekhmet stood in his clearing, surveying the splintered tree limbs he had stuck upright in the wet ground of the riverbed. He straightened one, and then raised a thick, straight stick in the air before shouting a challenge and lunging for the limb, slicing sideways as he'd seen trainees doing in a fallow field outside the town's walls. The pieces of wood hit together with a satisfying whack, and the limb toppled over to the ground. 

He blocked out the distracting sound of the rushing river close by and attacked the next one, thrusting with his stick. Sekhmet struck at the limb again, but as the branches connected, he lost his grip and his weapon ricocheted away and went flying off behind him. He spun around and discovered to his dismay that the stick had landed in the river. He ran over to the bank, hoping to grab it before it floated downstream, but was too late. 

"Now I'll have to find another," he mumbled, kicking at a nearby rock, round and smoothed by the water's ancient caress. It rolled a small distance before stopping, and he stooped to pick it up, testing its weight in his hand. "And that was the perfect sword, too." Sekhmet turned to start his search for a new practice weapon, but his eye was caught by the reflection in the water. His reflection. He scowled at it, watching as the reflection frowned back. 

He hated it. It was all because of the way he looked, the only reason he was here alone in the damp, with only the large trees and the river and his reflection in the water for company. He stared at the green hair, the large, colorless eyes, the face his mother and his clan despised. He was a demon, everyone said so, and this was why. This was why the other children were afraid of him, why everyone made warding symbols as he passed to protect their spirits from harm. 

Sekhmet gritted his teeth and threw the round rock in his hand at his reflection; it fell in with a large splash that got water all over him, though he didn't even notice it. But, the ripples fading away, his image reformed, taunting, leering back at him. Sekhmet turned away. 

He wanted to leave the forest now, tired of its games, although that meant going home and enduring the stares and the insults. However, it seemed that the Dark Sister wanted to keep him a little while longer. Something in the river flashed, metallic and almost green, and he turned back, his curiosity piqued. He returned to the bank, and it shone again from under the water, almost as if calling to him. 

_I wonder what that is? I've never seen anything in the river before... _That was certainly strange, as he'd been coming to this small clearing for several years now, and knew almost its every pebble. Sekhmet quickly stripped, tossing his two fairly ragged robes uncaringly to the mud, and dived into the cold, clear water. The currents were strong, but he had been a strong swimmer since he was little and went against them, kicking his way across, the chill of the rushing liquid making his skin numb. He reached the spot where the gleam had come from and, filling his lungs with air, went under, hands searching around in the muck of the riverbed, stirring up dirt. 

His fingers brushed something hard and heavy and closed around it before he heaved upward, lugging it back to the shore with an effort. He pushed the mud-covered thing onto the riverbank, shivering as he climbed out behind it onto the loose, sandy dirt and the air bit his wet skin. He dried off with his overrobe and dressed again, wishing that he didn't always get so cold, and then turned his attention to his prize. 

The muck slid off easily with a swipe of his fingers, revealing the red-splotched metal underneath. Sekhmet gasped in awe as he cleared more of the mud away. It was a sword, a real sword like the clan's warriors had, although it was a bit rusty. He traced the odd carvings on the blade with a finger, feeling as though he ought to be able to know what they said, and then grasped the hilt with both hands. It took all of his strength to lift it upward. It was as big as he was, and he was rather large for his seven years. 

He let it drop, the point scratching a line in the mud that was squelching up between his toes, and dragged it over to a patch of sandy soil. There he crouched down next to the sword and picked up handfuls of the sand, rubbing it on the metal to get the rust off as he'd seen a servant woman do to get corrosion off cooking ware. He worked diligently as the sun began to sink, finishing off the job by polishing it with his much-abused overrobe. 

When he had finished, Sekhmet lugged the sword upward to look at it critically. It shone in the last rays of the sun, but he could swear that the color it reflected was green, and not the orange-red of the sunset. Sekhmet looked up again in surprise as that thought caught in his mind. The sunset! It would be dark soon, and even he wouldn't want to be in the shadowy forest at night. Who knew what could be lurking here, lured out by the darkness? Ghosts from the bonefield that lay here, certainly, and all kind of monsters he'd heard stories about. Maybe even the demon who was his father lived in this black space under the trees, and _that_ scared him most of all. 

He began to drag the sword after him as he left, but then stopped. _I can't take it home. Viraz would take it from me and try to sell it. It's such a nice sword, better than the warriors have, even. _Sekhmet fumbled with the knot of his sash and yanked the short overrobe from his shoulders before awkwardly wrapping the sword in it and holding the heavy object in both arms like a bundle of sticks. Scanning about for a good place to hide it, he found a little rift in the earth and laid it there. Covering his new possession with rocks, he glanced up to judge the time by the sun's position, and then hurriedly left the forest down the path he'd made after years of coming to the clearing. 

It was dark by the time he had reached his house near the middle of the town, dark and cold. Sekhmet shivered again as he slipped in through the back kitchen door of the large thatched-roof house, the second-largest home in town next to the one his grandfather, the town's leader, owned. Everyone was scornful of his stepfather's merchant profession and the money he'd earned that way, for all that they bought things from him anyhow. 

He looked at the tatami mats on the floor as their two household servants passed, trying to ignore the gestures they made to protect themselves from his evil. By now those gestures were mostly out of habit, though they still hurt him anyhow. But he knew that the servants - two unmarried women who lived together in a small hut behind the house - had grown used to him and didn't really mind it when he stayed in the kitchen, as he so often did. 

He'd missed dinner again, as usual, and so he found some scraps of fish and the leftover rice in a bowl and approached the large cooking fire. Sitting down near it in a corner, feeling the warmth seep back into his chilled limbs, he ate what he'd found, watching the two women move around quietly, cleaning up from dinner. The dancing flames were so warm and comforting, and he felt a little drowsy, blinking back the want to sleep. 

Suddenly, a voice broke the stillness, and Sekhmet sat up straighter. "They're at it again," Natani murmured to the older woman, rolling her eyes toward the outer rooms. She was rather new, and had yet to get used to the household she was now a part of. 

"Nothing unordinary about that," Eri returned back, her gaze focused on the wet, stained rag she was scrubbing the table with. "She ought to just be quiet and take it, and he'd go easier; but she's always been a shrew, just like her mother, ever since she were a baby. I should know. She deserves all she asks for." 

Sekhmet listened intently, and soon the sound of loud, angry voices and breaking things filled his ears. Despite the old woman's words, he was rarely in the house when a fight broke out, and had always left when one started. However, it was much too cold out for that, and dark, too. He'd used to want to protect his mother, despite the fact that it did nothing but get him hurt too. Now he was perfectly intent on staying here, where it was safe. 

He'd nearly nodded off by the fire before the motion of the bowl in his hands being wrenched away woke him from his doze. He looked up to see Eri, who jerked her watery eyes from his gaze. "You, get out of here," she ordered, pointing toward the door. "Kitchen's the last place we need bad luck. You don't get out and I thrash you." 

_Great, _the green-haired boy thought sourly, getting up to leave. _Stay here and get hit or go out there and get hit just the same._ The old woman had never made good on her threat, but then again he'd never given her the chance. After all, no one else had ever bothered to warn him before beating him. 

"Oh, Miss Eri," he could hear Natani's soft voice exclaim; she had hidden her face with her sleeve the whole time. "Aren't you afraid he'll steal your soul?" 

"Nonsense," the stout servant muttered, but even so she never met the boy's eyes with hers as he passed. "The master takes care of _that_, sure enough." 

Sliding the door closed behind him, he carefully followed the noise of bellows and screams toward the room where his mother and stepfather slept. Oh, things were just wonderful, now. He slept in a different space, but the only way he could get there was through theirs. He would have to wait out in the entrance room 

From here he could distinctly hear the bellows of his stepfather, Viraz, interrupted by the higher-pitched shrieks of his mother. They were yelling about something, everything - that hardly mattered anymore. They'd scream about _anything_. Sekhmet peered cautiously into the room; maybe he'd be able to sneak by. 

Rielvia, her face bruised and bloodied, had futilely ducked behind a chest that held clothes for protection, desperately trying to evade the blows Viraz threw at her, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her long black hair flew out everywhere as she grabbed the nearest thing at hand, a vase holding wilting flowers, and flung it at her husband. He sidestepped easily, the ceramic cylinder shattering against the beam behind him and the water splashing the oiled paper of the walls, and swung at her, the blow catching her just behind the ear. She was stunned for a moment, and he grabbed her arm, yanked her swiftly across the top of the sturdy chest and threw her to the ground. She flopped there for a moment before dragging herself to her hands and knees, trying to choke back tears of helplessness. 

Viraz chuckled in a self-congratulatory way, scratching the orange bristles of his beard, and Sekhmet made a muffled squeak of alarm. _Oh, shut up! _he berated himself, covering his mouth with his hand. _Why should I care? She doesn't!_ he thought fiercely, jerking back out of the doorway. 

Seeing the movement, Viraz turned his coaly eyes on the boy, and his face grew a twisted grin. "You!" he exclaimed. "You cursed little piece of shit! What are you doing here?" 

He swallowed the fear, knowing that he had to answer or it would just be worse. "I wanted - to go to bed," he choked. 

"Oh, so you wanted to go to bed," he repeated, flexing thick fingers in anticipation. 

Rielvia looked up woozily, shaking her head in obvious pain. "Viraz, leave him be," she said in a voice so soft he could have pretended to ignore it, although he rounded on her with a sneer and delivered a hard kick to her side before following up with a whack to her head. 

"Stop it," Sekhmet nearly whined, trying to be brave but not succeeding very well. There was nowhere he could go, and it was so cold outside; he couldn't run, because if he ran he couldn't come back and there was nowhere he could go! "Why do you have to do that? Don't do that!" 

"Why? I only do it because I love your mother, whore that she is," the large man said, clenching his fist again as he recovered from his swing, the woman's sobs rending the air as he turned on the boy trying to disappear into the shadows. "But you - _you_ will not control me! I should have broken your neck years ago. In fact, that whore should have drowned you the moment you were born, the way I told her to." He began to advance on Sekhmet, who backed out of the room but suddenly hit against the wall, eyes huge and panicked. "Yes, demon, try casting your spells now. It won't do you any good. You can't control me with those reptile eyes. I will make you pay, you wretched bastard!" 

Sekhmet pressed his back against the wall, trying to sink through it. He began to whimper softly, looking for any way to escape. Viraz could run so much faster than him and there was nowhere he could go. He shrieked as the man's fist slammed into his jawbone, sending his head back to collide against the wall. His bare feet slipped on the mats and out from under him, and he couldn't keep the tears from coming to his eyes. 

Viraz picked him up by the front of his robe and began to shout, punctuating each syllable with a shake. "You - will - not - control - me! You - will - not - control - _me_!" He threw Sekhmet against the wall with a roar, shaking the thin partition, and the boy clutched his head in agony. 

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it!" he moaned, tasting the blood in his mouth and wishing for nothing else but to _be_ able to control him, to make him stop and go away for good. Viraz began to kick his prone form, yelling unintelligibly until he stopped protesting. 

Satisfied, Viraz wiped his hands on the front of his furry vest, leaving streaks of blood there. Sekhmet watched, uncaring, through one swollen eye as he stumbled back through the doorway and over to his mother, mumbling, before dragging her to the rumpled sheets of the bed nearby and descending upon her, hands tearing at clothing. He swallowed, tasting salt and more blood, and then everything went black. 

* * * * * 

Sekhmet ran his hands through the thatch, pulling loose pieces away and picking apart a piece of straw as he watched the gathering below. A group of traveling performers had come to town, and they had been paid for two nights of music. Although performers were looked down upon as being of low rank, people still enjoyed watching them, and they were a rarity in these parts. He sat alone and out of the way, observing everyone as they milled around the packed dirt that made up the town commons, waiting for dusk to arrive. 

Sekhmet pushed at his loose tooth absently with his tongue as he looked down from the roof, watching as people bustled about full of excitement. At least Viraz hadn't knocked it out this time, and it was falling out naturally. He rolled over on his stomach, wincing as he put his head in his hands, poking his bruised jaw with a finger to judge how much it still hurt. 

The other children were running around, getting in everyone else's way as the adults tried to light the large fire or set up their instruments. Some of them had also grabbed vantage points on the roofs and were happily throwing straw on the heads of their parents and others below. 

He watched a group of boys tease a small brown-haired girl, who immediately punched the closest one in the face. He stifled a laugh as her father, a tall, lanky man who visited Viraz once in a while, came up to pull her away before the boy could hit her back, shouting angrily. The girl looked up at Sekhmet and gave him a toothy grin, or so it seemed. _She was probably just looking at the large crow sitting on the chimney..._ he told himself, brushing the thought aside. 

The excitement rose as the fire was lit, and soon everyone moved in to sit down, trying for the best seats, smoke filling the air, and even some of the village dogs coming to join them, flopped over on their sides with tongues lolling out contentedly. He looked on as it grew darker, anticipation overtaking everyone. It was not often that musicians, or anyone, for that matter, came to visit the clan, and hearsay had it that this particular group was very good. They were especially welcomed because they were largely made up of outcasts and people descended from barbarians, just like the people of the clan itself, which was why they were so isolated from the rest of the country. 

The troupe of five soon approached and took up their places, four of them posing silently in the shadows as one held up a screen in front of the light of the fire, and Sekhmet pulled back further into the shadows. Viraz had warned him to stay away from the visitors so that he might not scare them away, and he wasn't about to do anything purposely to get him mad. 

Even so, he thought that one of them, a young rust-haired woman, might have seen him. For some reason, she was gazing up at his roof with a strange look on her makeup-covered face. He held his breath until she looked away, wondering what that look meant - it wasn't the usual fear, he thought. They performed the customary opening formalities, and he crept forward again as they began. 

The woman who had noticed him earlier was singing as the others played, acting out the words of the songs. She had a high, clear voice that was nice to listen to as she sang, "The far waters are bitter, the near waters are sweet. Pass through the bitter, and come to the sweet." Many of the songs were wild and noisy, and later on more than a few were slow love-songs. They almost seemed to captivate everybody, lull them into a trance, calm them and relax them. 

And then came the stories. Three of the others acted out the other parts now, bringing to life their favorite folktales while the last member of the troupe played the pipe and also the drum, using a strange little contraption attached to his toe. "Long ago and far away," the rust-haired woman said with a sweeping gesture, "there lived a bamboo cutter and his wife. The bamboo cutter enjoyed his work, though he had never heard of a _wealthy_ bamboo cutter. He relished the freedom he had to wander the forests in search of the precious wood" 

Raking his eyes over the crowd, Sekhmet noticed Viraz and Rielvia sitting side by side somewhat near the large bonfire. He watched as his mother's hand crept to caress her husband's briefly before he caught it in his own and squeezed, and the boy shook his head. He couldn't understand it. _How can Mother let him hit her and still love him? What wrong with them, anyway? He must have hurt her head or something, because that's really stupid. _I_ hate him and I'll always hate him. _

"The light seemed to radiate from the center of the tiny thicket, from the largest bamboo tree in the grove. As if moved by forces beyond his control, the man walked to the glowing tree and raised his axe. The tree fell with but one swing of his blade, and there in the center of the hollow trunk sat a beautiful, tiny baby girl." 

_If I came from bamboo, or a peach, maybe they'd like me then,_ he thought sourly. _Weird people in stories are always good luck, and they always grow up and do interesting things, but I'll probably just get hit until I die. _He watched the other families sitting together, smiling drowsily, and sighed. They weren't thinking about him, his curse, and his mother didn't care where he was at all, and somehow, it was better this way. He lowered his head down into the straw and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the woman's voice and the familiar stories put him to sleep. 

* * * * * 

He gasped and sat upright suddenly, blinking away the drowsiness. It was dark, dark everywhere, and he couldn't see. Sekhmet felt the thatch under his fingers and clutched it reflexively, finally closing his eyes and counting slowly before reopening them. He was able to make vague shapes out now, and looked up at the sky. He was relieved to see that the stars were still the same, the sky still a dark shade of blue, clouds a dark gray against the blackness. Somehow, he thought that it had changed, that the sky was different and the stars were different, but now it just seemed like part of a dream he couldn't remember. 

As he stared at the dark, sleeping town, he saw the distant glow of a fire, near the surrounding wall. That was the place where the wall came up against the Dark Sister, and there the wall was weak, full of holes, creating the perfect entranceway to his forest. _Who would be over there? The musicians? The others would have told them how nasty the forest was. I better go check and make sure._

Sekhmet climbed over to the edge of the roof and slid off, hanging by his fingers for a moment before dropping and landing, hurting his feet with the movement but managing not to fall. He knew the town very well, of course, and so was able to navigate easily to the spot where he had seen the fire. Careful not to get too close, he saw the musicians sitting around outside their wagon, talking softly or resting. Apparently, they had decided not to stay at the inn, which was a good idea; the innkeeper was lazy, and so the rooms were even dirtier than outside and the beds full of bugs. Someone must have given them the tip, or they'd gone and seen it for themselves. 

He hid around the corner, behind a house with darkened windows, watching the strangers curiously and making sure to keep quiet so the occupants inside wouldn't hear him and think him a thief. The performers weren't doing much, though, and his eyelids began to droop, his head suddenly becoming too heavy to hold up. Sekhmet forced himself awake once more, and was horrified to see that the singer had definitely seen him, her dark eyes piercing the shadows surrounding him. He didn't dare move, lest the others see him too, but froze, wishing he had stayed on the roof, or just gone home. 

She stood slowly, murmuring something to the others, and walked over to him. He looked up at her, not afraid of what _she_ might do, but afraid of what Viraz would do if he found out he had been bothering them. He started to take a step away but was frozen in place by the gesture to stop that she made at him. She turned the corner and then stopped just in front of him, staring. He wanted her to do something, gasp, shriek, run, do anything except just stare, although he was used to that, too. But it felt different coming from this stranger, and as he looked back at her he saw not fear but sadness in her eyes. 

The woman smiled at him, and said softly, "Hello." He began to back away slowly again, not trusting the unusual reactions she was giving him. She held out her hand. "Wait! I won't hurt you. I promise." He frowned, still mistrustful, but stopped, wondering what she was about. She knelt in front of him, eyes large and dark in the moonlight, the hem of her robe and the ends of her long sleeves, embroidered with birds and serpents, trailing in the dust. "I am called Cirian. What is your name, little one?" 

He shivered a bit, not just from the chill in the air, and replied, "Sekhmet." He didn't particularly like his name, either, especially because he knew Viraz had given it to him, that it was a word from the place Viraz's grandmother had come from - probably a _bad_ word, knowing him. It was too strange, even among his clan where not everyone was wholly Japanese, just one more oddness he didn't want or need. 

Cirian repeated it faintly and then cautiously reached out a hand to touch his emerald hair. His mind yelled at him to jerk away, but he forced himself to stand still. Somehow, he felt that this woman wouldn't harm him. The light pressure felt strange and made him fidget a little, fighting that urge to move. 

"You you are the son of a snake-god?" she asked him seriously, her hand still on his head. 

He shrugged; she wasn't the first one to ask, though she was the first one to not fear looking into his eyes. "That's what everyone says," he answered. She smiled up at him sadly, but her eyes looked far away, almost right through him. Something was obviously wrong, but he had no idea what. Sekhmet tapped her shoulder hesitantly, hoping it wouldn't anger her. "Miss Cirian?" he began, and her eyes came back into focus. 

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head to clear it. "I was just remembering something" She looked away for a moment. "I had a daughter like you, Sekhmet. I loved her very much. Her name was Nilaie." 

He frowned thoughtfully, more shocked by this news than he let himself show. "You mean there's other people like me?" Cirian nodded. "Where's your daughter now?" he asked, pretty sure that he knew the answer to that. 

She closed her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, she had gone back into the past, concentrating on something he couldn't see. She spoke almost emotionlessly. "When Nilaie was born, my father tried to take her away and kill her. I ran away with her, hiding. None of the villages would let us stay long, and we were always running, always looking for somewhere to stay. Finally I met our group, and they took me on as a singer. They didn't mind Nilaie's looks, and she was always beautiful to me 

"She was three years old when they found us. My father had spread word that I was keeping a demon they attacked us. I escaped, but Nilaie" Cirian shook herself out of her reverie. "She was killed by the people, the ignorant people, who judged my little girl just because of her _face_. People much like the ones in this town," she added, tracing one of the splotchy bruises on his jaw with a finger. 

Sekhmet wasn't sure what to say. "I Miss Cirian, you're the only person who's ever been nice to me before. I'm sorry about your daughter, even though I didn't know her. I want to, but" 

She smiled at him, thinking for a moment. "Come with me," she finally offered. "Leave this place and come with us. We'll protect you. I know you can't replace my daughter, but at least you can have my love. You deserve better than this, Sekhmet." 

He stared at her in surprise. _Leave the clan, leave Viraz, leave..._ He nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'll go! When? Now!" Her face broke into a grin, and he was glad that he'd made her so happy, although it was all still a little overwhelming. Cirian, hesitating only a moment, opened her arms and then hugged him, and he tensed involuntarily as he was drawn into her embrace. He knew she wasn't trying to hurt him, but another person's touch felt so strange 

Pulling away, she sighed sadly, looking thoughtfully at him again, and then stood up, taking his hand. "I will introduce you to the others now. We will leave early-" She looked up and cut herself off, gasping in surprise. 

Sekhmet's blood ran cold, his heart wanted to stop Viraz was standing _right there_! He quickly tried to hide behind Cirian. _No, no, he can't ruin it now! I was going to get away!_

"He's not going anywhere," Viraz announced. "Let go of him now, woman. He obviously has you under a spell." 

"He does not," Cirian said angrily. "And why do you care? You obviously don't want him, don't love him. You should be happy for me taking him off your hands." 

Viraz snarled at her. "It is none of your affair. Go back to your little performing friends, you low-class wench, and stay out of what doesn't concern you." Sekhmet felt Viraz's hand close around his wrist and protested as he was yanked away from Cirian. He tried to go back to her, reaching for her, but Viraz held him almost effortlessly. "The demon must suffer for the curse his birth has brought upon us. If his will is not broken and we cast him out, then his spirit will return to eat our souls. He is staying, singer. How dare you try to bring doom upon our clan?" 

"You are just trying to ease your wounded pride," she said decisively with a shake of her head, her dark eyes looking right through him. "He can't hurt you, he's just a boy!" 

_No, don't fight him, don't argue with him or he'll hit you!_ Sekhmet thought at her, trying without success to pull his wrist out of the big man's grasp. The hand tightened hard enough to hurt, and he cried out, feeling like his bones were snapping under that pressure. 

Viraz began to advance on her slowly. "Oh, yes, you'll pay, woman," he snarled, his hand suddenly darting out to grab hold of the front of her kimono, twisting it in his hand and pulling her up close to him. She pushed against his chest, glancing back over her shoulder toward the wagon where the others were lounging, and he growled low in her ear, "Make one sound and I'll snap your neck before they even get up." She choked back her cry, and he looked down at Sekhmet. "You! You get back to the house, now!" 

"No, I won't," he spat back, struggling hand, and the man let go of his wrist just long enough to backhand the green-haired boy, knocking him into a stand of itchy grass that grew around the edges of the house. 

"You - will - go - now!" he commanded in the same clipped way he always ordered Sekhmet about, driving each word in like nails. "_Now_!" 

Choking back helpless tears, he backed away from his stepfather's anger, grass rustling around him as he crawled backward, more afraid of Viraz than he had the courage, or even the ability, to help Cirian. She gave him an apologetic, understanding look, the fear in her eyes to match his own, and in that moment he thought that the slim singer really understood then why he'd flinched when she'd hugged him. 

Blearily through his tears he saw the bearded man lean to kiss Cirian roughly, holding her tightly to him as she tried to fight away, and then he began dragging her away toward the wall and the dark forest on its other side. He saw no more, then, as he turned to run back home, back to his cold bed and his mother who would give him no comfort. 

* * * * * 

The clan was angry. The people talked about it all over town during the next day, at the well, as they walked down the streets, as they tended their fields. The performers had gone, disappeared without a trace, and they had taken the money the clan had paid them for the next night's performance. They were also confused; why had the musicians left after only one performance? If they were frauds, they wouldn't have performed at all. Only Sekhmet and Viraz knew the truth, and they kept that knowledge to themselves. So the clan was forced to wonder, and the general mood of the town was not good. 

As usual, Sekhmet didn't stay around his house. As soon as morning-meal had been served to Viraz and Rielvia, he took his portion from the kitchen, also as usual, and then left for the forest. He traveled through the trees, following the path he had followed for so long, kicking rocks and enjoying the dull ache that left in his toes. It was _his_ fault. He had bothered the singers and made Viraz chase them away, made him hurt Cirian, made them all angry. He wished he could forget about it, but it hung onto his mind. The guilt was there, as always. If only he wasn't a demon, a curse, then maybe he could play around town with the other boys, and train with them out in the fallow field. 

He didn't feel like going to his clearing today, even with the thought of that bright, heavy sword to practice with. Sekhmet decided to keep walking when the path turned abruptly. Perhaps there would be something interesting in the forest that he could explore; perhaps, like the bamboo-cutter, or the man in the tale of the fox-wife, he would find a strange creature here who would give him a wish, and then he would wish to leave and never come back. 

The path he saw through the pine needles and dead leaves was beaten down a little, oddly enough, but too light to be a deer trail, he knew. Curious, he decided to follow it, and it wasn't long when he saw a long piece of cloth, an obi from a kimono, just lying there on the ground. That caught his attention right away; he hadn't put it there, but there were few others who would come into this forest. He felt almost indignant at this sign of human intrusion; the Dark Sister was _his_, and it was all he had, so they'd _better_ still be afraid of it. 

He moved forward a little further, bare feet rustling the leaves on the forest floor, and saw a heap of cloth among the trees, in front of a large rock lightly stained with a rusty brown. Suddenly, the pile moved and an arm appeared, streaked with blood, reaching out for him- 

Panic overtook him, crashing through him like waves as his heart pounded in his ears. He shrieked and ran, crashing through the brush until he tripped and fell on a root protruding from the earth. He gasped violently as the wind was knocked out of him, instinctively covering his head with his hands, waiting for the monster to rip him apart 

Nothing happened, and soon his breathing slowed, and he tentatively uncurled. He got up and looked back, calmer now. So far it had just stretched out toward him, not moved; maybe the thing was not a threat, and so he walked back over towards it, curiosity getting the better of him. Closer now, he was able to tell what it was, or, rather, _who_ it was. "Miss Cirian!" he exclaimed, kneeling at her side. 

She looked awful, covered in bruises and dried blood, her left arm twisted at a bad angle and her fancy kimono and underrobes torn and hanging open in front. But she moved, still breathed, and Sekhmet knew exactly how this had happened. He took the pale hand in his own, watching as she fully woke up, coppery eyelashes fluttering. She cried when she saw him, and he found that he was crying, too, for no reason that he could fully name. 

He helped her sit up and pull the edges of her torn clothing together to cover her body, wanted to comfort her somehow, wanted to _be_ comforted as the familiar feeling of guilt rose inside him. So he hugged her, not knowing if it was the right thing to do; the others of the clan had always seemed to like it, however, and the warm feeling of Cirian's arms felt nice as he tried to stop crying. Finally he wiped his face on his sleeve and turned to look at her. "Viraz did this," he stated plainly, and she nodded in reply. 

"Yes, he - brought me here," she said in a low, hoarse voice, her eyes looking to him like shattered mirrors. "He hurt me, left me for dead afterwards" She trailed off, unwilling to describe to the child what had really happened. 

"I'm going to kill him," Sekhmet told her in a stern voice, hoping it would comfort her. "As soon as I can. I have a sword now, I'll use it and kill him. That will revenge you." 

She struggled to stand with his help, leaning heavily on his shoulder and making him adjust his balance in order to stay upright. "Killing helps nothing, little one," she said, more tears sparkling in her eyes. "Revenge will only make you as bad as him." 

_I'm not going to be like him!_ He shook his head stubbornly; how could she say that, after what he did? "But if I don't, he'll just hurt more people. I've got to kill him." He took her hand, trying to pull her along; she stumbled and winced, as if walking hurt her. Feeling solicitous and anxious, the boy went on, "I'll show you to the road from here. Your other people who were with you already left, and I bet they can help you fix your arm. If you go to town, Viraz might find you again." 

Cirian nodded and let him lead her to the edge of the forest. It was a slow trip, as she often stopped to fall down on her knees, curling over her lap with fists clenched, eyes shut tight in pain before she found the strength to move on again. He waited for her to get back up wordlessly, although most of the way he'd found himself babbling about one thing or another. 

Finally, they reached a small ridge lined with trees. "There's the town wall. The road is off thataway," he said, pointing to the north. "It goes all the way to Kaze, the capital. I've never been there but I bet it's big. Have you ever been there?" 

She didn't answer, instead looking down at him again, squeezing his hand tightly with her own cold and clammy one. "Please, come with me now, Sekhmet." She looked at him searchingly, as if she was trying to see in him something of her daughter, or perhaps something else entirely. "Leave this place. There's still time" 

"I can't, Miss Cirian," he said plaintively, regretting every word. But a new purpose had sprung up in him, a new reason for enduring what he did. "I've got to stay now to kill Viraz. I can't just go away when he'll still alive. When he's dead I'll come find you, all right? I'll come find you in Kaze; I bet you'll know me for sure, no matter what." 

She sighed, perhaps in disappointment, nodded, and hugged him once more before turning away. He watched her move slowly down the path, disheveled russet hair loose and swinging behind her, and choked back some more tears. Someone who wanted him, really truly wanted him, and he was making her leave without him. Her voice came floating back to his ears, and he wanted to go with her, almost ran to her again. But he thought of Viraz, and knew he had to stay. "Be safe, little one perhaps one day you will return to me." 

"I will, Miss Cirian," he said after a long time, knowing she wouldn't hear him by now even if he did yell. With a half-hearted wave at her retreating back, he turned and ran into the Dark Sister's waiting arms. 


	3. Part Two - Father

Standard Disclaimer: Warlords, et al, belong to Sunrise. My characters and concepts (including the snake-gods) belong to me, do not use without asking. If you ask, I probably won't say no. 

"Histories: Snake God"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Two - Father 

_Just put one foot in front of the other. Act like you don't see them crossing to the other side of the road the way they always do, _he coached himself. _Can't let them see you're scared of them_ - well, not scared, the half-breed told himself. He wasn't scared of the older boys, not really, but every altercation with them, every time he beat them or avoided them, the legend of his strange powers and his curse grew larger and larger. It would be easier if he'd let them win, to let them think they were the ones in control, but he got enough of that from Viraz as it was. 

Sekhmet stared at the intriguing ground passing beneath his feet as he went through town, the voices and sounds of everyday life swirling around him but not including him, somehow managing to walk slowly, casually although everything in him was telling him to run like a scared rabbit and forget what he was going to do, get to the forest where they wouldn't follow. 

He hadn't really been back home for a long time, preferring instead to sleep outside when it was warm enough and hunt for his own food in the forest. The temporary 'eviction' bothered him very little, and in fact was a rather welcome vacation from the scorn and the beatings. Now that he was older, and bigger, he no longer always stood there and took what his stepfather dished out, even though he knew resistance made the large man even angrier and his abuse worse. 

Viraz and Rielvia had ordered him to stay as far away from his mother as possible because she was going to have a baby again, after so many years, and they didn't want him to influence it. In fact, the whole town was waiting anxiously to see if it turned out like him. He hoped not. He would hardly wish his life on anyone, and he shuddered at the thought of what Viraz might do, if it was. 

Sekhmet knew, in fact, exactly what he _would_ do. The orange-haired man's words rang in his ears even after these many months he'd already spent away from him. It did not always take drink to make Viraz bitter and abusive, although that time he had been guzzling sake with friends and forcing him to refill their cups. _'A whore like your mother should have counted herself lucky to be barren,' _he'd drawled, _'that she'd have no brats for evidence. Only demon's seed got you on her twelve years ago, you little shit, and if it happens this time I'll tear all three of you to bits.' _

He had no doubts the man's words were true; if the threat hadn't included him in it, he wasn't sure if he'd care. His mother had to be an idiot to bring another half-demon into the world, just to satisfy some need for another baby. Viraz wouldn't even give this one a chance to 'control' him 

_Well, I wish I really_ could _control him like he always says I can. I'd make him writhe at my feet and beg forgiveness before I slit him open! He'd never hit me again, the bastard, I'd make damn sure of that!_ Sekhmet bit his lip and gave the rock in front of him a good, hard kick, sending it sailing off into the dust ahead. If his mother _did_ have another demon after so long, he wasn't going to wait around for Viraz to kill them all, even if he still had nowhere to go. Nowhere was better than the Land of the Dead, he was certain. 

Nasty laughter from the other side of the dusty dirt road broke him out of his brooding thoughts, and his head snapped up to show him a gang of older boys staring at him, glancing between them and whispering to each other. Sekhmet tensed up, stopping in his tracks without even knowing he was doing so. _Oh, no, not again. When are they going to learn they won't be 'saving the clan' by bothering me?_ Several of them began to stoop down, grabbing rocks and clods of grassy dirt from the roadside. 

The oldest boy threw a rock at him, shouting, "Hey, there goes snake-boy!" Sekhmet barely managed to dodge at the last minute, twisting his body around in a quick movement that made his head spin for a moment. 

"We've got mice in the pantry, Snake, you want some lunch?" 

Several more rocks followed, some he couldn't evade, striking rather harmlessly on his arms although they increased his anger plenty. _They aren't afraid of me because I haven't hurt Viraz, and look what he's done to me! Well, I'll just have to make them afraid; there's really too many to fight on my own._ Sekhmet grabbed up a rock and hefted it in his hand, poised to throw back. 

"Oh, look there," the jeers came, "is he gonna fight back?" 

"Snakes can't throw rocks, demon-baby!" 

"Watch out, he might bite!" 

_If only..._ "My, aren't you brave," he spat out mockingly, meeting the leader's eyes with his own. He began to move slowly toward them. "You're not afraid of my powers?" 

There was a sudden, tense silence, and then one of the boys retorted with bravado, "What powers? You ain't ever done nothing, brat. You only wish you got demon powers along with demon looks." 

Sekhmet frowned to himself, mind desperately searching for a plan. Above all, he had to remain calm, not let them know they were getting to him. "You know that lump that grew on Sasha's face, size of an orange almost? I put that there 'cause he spit on me," he lied, "and I can do worse to you! I'll curse you if you don't leave right now!" He glared until the boys had to look away, stopping at a suitable throwing distance. 

"Liar," someone said, but the voice was rather quiet and tentative, almost as if asking for the statement's approval. There was no answer but silence between them, the adults going about their business around them ignoring the squabbles of children as they usually did, even ones including the half-demon. 

Gloating inwardly, he smiled at them, slow and malicious. "You think? Well, how about this? First your ears will fall off," he began, raising his free hand in the air, gesturing randomly. "Then your fingers, one by one, will shrivel and break into pieces, and, then-" He didn't get a chance to finish as the boys scattered and ran away, though _that_ part would have been the best part 

"Finally," he muttered, dropping the rock. The only children brave enough to bother him were older than him, bigger, but he had learned that they took his threats seriously. He only wished they were real, but of course, that would have led to much, much more trouble than he found himself in now. 

The altercation over, it was immediately forgotten as Sekhmet neared his destination, the field outside the open gate, where the clan's warriors practiced. He hauled himself up into a tree, a short distance away, and sat on a limb, leaning back against the trunk. The boys he'd just met were probably old enough to be here, but as war had not reached their clan, they were not forced to train if they didn't want to, or didn't have the skill. The ones who were here, following the older men who taught them, were more dedicated to fighting and would be the leaders if they _did_ eventually go to war. 

He watched the practice, wanting to be out there with them instead of alone in the damp, dark forest, hacking at branches stuck in the ground. But there was no chance of that - they just wouldn't trust him enough. What else could a half-breed be but a warrior, a fighter? Yet they weren't even going to let him have that. It worried him, sometimes, the thought of his life in the future, and the emptiness that seemed to span in that direction, as formless and endless as the darkness he saw when he closed his eyes. 

When they had all finished and left he silently dropped down to the ground and left for his clearing, skirting around the outside of the town's retaining wall rather than cut through the village, so as to avoid more people. The forest seemed silent as he walked through it, bare feet traveling the same path he'd taken so often over the years. There was an expectant waiting where he'd usually see an undercurrent of movement beneath the leaves, squirrels hoarding their nuts, owls shifting restlessly, the skitter of mice along the undergrowth and the occasional piercing shriek of one animal finding an end to its hunt. 

Pushing through the clump of bushes he'd encouraged to grow there to hide the clearing even more, Sekhmet immediately shed his clothes, making a running leap toward the rope he'd hung from a huge overhanging tree, catching hold of it and swinging out into the middle of the wide, lazy river, letting go and falling in with a shriek and a splash. 

Sun sparkled along the rippling surface of the water as he swam idly, enjoying the peace of this place that he could call his own. Sometimes he wished that there was someone else to swim with, to train with and explore with, but even if he did have friends in the village, they never would have come _here_, never would have guessed that actual beauty lay behind the Dark Sister's forbidding exterior. 

Having swum enough now to feel as though he'd gotten some exercise, he dried off in the sun and dressed again before extracting his sword from the heap of rocks that covered it, unwrapping his old, ragged overrobe that still protected it from the elements. The sharp blade shone as he raised it in the air, not quite so heavy anymore after five years, and he jumped forward, slashing at the branches that stood in his 'practice field'. 

In his mind's eye, Sekhmet saw Viraz standing there, and lunged for him, stabbing and completely cleaving him in two, grinning furiously as the blood sprayed from the body, as the large man blubbered and cried like a helpless child. And then there were others, his mother, the older boys, his whole clan, and with a cry of rage he demolished them all. They screamed for mercy, begging, and he just laughed and killed them. 

As Sekhmet gasped for breath, sweat dripping down his face from the exertion of wielding the heavy blade so wildly, the whole scene faded and he returned to the forest, surrounded by chips of wood and broken, splintered branches. Before he even had time to wonder at himself, or at what had just happened, behind him came a light he saw out of the corner of his eye. It disappeared almost as soon as he became aware of it but still he turned around in a quick, jerky movement, holding his sword defensively. 

A tall and slender human-like figure was coalescing before him as he stared in astonishment, unable to move. He felt his hands go numb, his sword threatening to fall from his fingers. All this time he'd thought jokingly that one day he'd meet some kind of otherworldly being in the forest, just like in all the tales, but he never really believed that something like that would happen. He knew they existed, demons and monsters and spirits, but he hadn't thought any of them would show themselves to him, despite his blood. _What does it want? What - do I do? Can I fight it, or can I get away in time if I go now- _

Suddenly, it was there, and he gasped, almost in shock and with more than a little fear. The man before him was looking down at him with large, golden, whiteless eyes. His pupils were vertical, slitted, and he held Sekhmet's gaze so that he was unable to look away. His hair was green and very long, floating around him of its own accord in waves. He wore a simple red robe with a short-sleeved one over it, and along his cheekbones and down his neck were green and gold scales that faded into pale skin on his face and hands. 

In one hand he held a sword loosely, and despite everything Sekhmet could see that it was the match to his own. The expression on the stranger's face was impossible to define as the man simply looked at him, and, although it was completely disrespectful, Sekhmet just stared back, not knowing what to do. "You," he managed to choke out. "You're a snake-demon!" Everyone always said he was one of them, and he'd never thought they'd even actually existed 

The man laughed softly. "We prefer 'snake-god'," he replied, "as vain as that may be. My name is Essah. And you are Sekhmet, I know." 

"Why are you here?" he asked bluntly. The man didn't reply, and Sekhmet felt that perhaps he'd been too bold. Some spirits _liked_ boldness, and others Nervous, he knelt quickly in front of the man, offering his sword with his head bent. Maybe sacrificing his favorite possession would save him, although his stomach twisted at the thought of his sword being taken away. "This must belong to you. It matches the one you have. I found it in the river" He trailed off as he heard Essah's chuckle. 

"Keep it. It my gift to you, my son." 

Sekhmet jerked his head up in surprise, stammering in shock. Essah's lips curved gently into a smile. Here was the man he'd wondered about his whole life, the man whose blood in his veins had made his life a living hell - and yet meeting him, the boy could only feel a sudden rush of excitement, of happiness, maybe sheer joy in knowing that he had a father. "Th-thank you Father," he dared to say, quickly lowering his gaze again, hand tightening on the hilt of the blade he held. 

"Look up." Sekhmet did, and saw Essah raise his sword and tear open the tip of one slender finger. His voice grew rather sonorous, taking on a ceremonial tone. "I accept you as my son, of my blood. Bind soul to soul, protect one with the other. My strength to you, your pain I take. Put this upon me, soul entwined," he intoned, reaching out and tracing something on Sekhmet's face with his blood, down along his cheeks, forehead, and across the bridge of his nose. 

The blood felt strangely warm on his face and then grew hotter, and he could see a faint green glow reflected onto Essah's features. _It's coming from me! _he realized, stunned. That had been magic, real magic 

"It is done," Essah announced, and the glow grew brighter. Sekhmet couldn't resist glancing into the water nearby, and faintly saw his reflection. Thick lines of green glimmered for a moment and then disappeared, leaving his appearance the same although it gave him an unclear feeling, as if there was something else there with him, inside his skin. 

Essah stiffened slightly and blinked as Sekhmet looked back over at him. An expression of something resembling pain crossed his face, but he recovered almost immediately. A symbol appeared also on his face, different than the one he'd seen reflected in the river but similar nonetheless, and then quickly vanished. "So we may know our own," he said by way of explanation, gesturing at the ground. "Be seated. There is much I should tell you, and much, I'm sure, that you would like to know." 

Sekhmet sat down in the sandy dirt, still feeling a little shaky, his grip on the sword the only thing keeping him from feeling as if he were about to burst open. Essah sank down to sit across from him, his hair floating down to wave around him nearly hypnotically. There was a momentary silence as the snake-god paused to collect his thoughts and the boy tried to fetch his wits back again. 

"It begins" Essah said finally, "it must be thirteen years ago now, although it seems longer than that. Strange, for time usually goes by so quickly Here in the dark forest, where I had gone to find a little peace, I noticed a human. This was strange, because they don't seem to like it here. After a while, I decided to appear to her. She was afraid at first, but perhaps she was more curious. But, for whatever reason, she did not run away. I was impressed with her bravery, and decided to learn more about her. I soon found out that her name was Rielvia." 

"Mother used to go here?" Sekhmet half-asked in spite of himself, and Essah nodded. 

"Yes." He paused again before going on, "Her life seems to have worn on her, as is the way with humans although it may not be the case now, your mother was very beautiful in her youth, and I became, well, quite charmed by her. I remember that she told me she was sad, that she couldn't bear children" He shook his head. "We arranged to meet again, in the forest. She liked to go here to be alone, and apparently wouldn't be missed." He trailed off again, as if searching for the right words. 

_How strange, it's almost like he's _nervous_ or something..._ "You don't have to be so polite," the green-haired boy said without thinking and winced, but rather than take it back went on, "I've known about what goes on between men and women for a long time now; I'm not an only son because of their lack of trying." He felt his lip curl in a sneer. "Even if I didn't sleep almost right in the room with Mother and him, Viraz _talks_ about it enough." 

Essah regarded him curiously before smiling gently. "Ah, yes, Viraz. Don't worry, Sekhmet, I will be blunt if it is necessary, though it is not. Perhaps" he said carefully, "you have heard that your mother is not always faithful to one lover only?" 

"Sure," he responded, wondering why it mattered. "It's said a lot, though never if my grandfather can hear it. Viraz says it all the time though I don't think she actually" Sekhmet scowled. "She _should_ shame him, I don't know why she doesn't." 

"Things were the same thirteen years ago," his father told him. "Rielvia and I met often, but one day she stopped coming to the forest. I was curious as to why, and found that she had a husband, a warrior named Ayaken, while she was meeting me, as well as another lover in Viraz." 

_Gods, Mother, _Sekhmet thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes heavenward. For some reason it was so easy to feel scorn at that, despite the fact he was the result of one of those illicit unions. Maybe it was more the fact that the derisive gossip in town was actually _true_

"I appeared to her once more," he continued, "and she revealed that she was with child, and didn't know if the child was her husband's or mine, or even Viraz's. So, I resolved to wait and see what happened. 

"You may not have known that more than a year passed between that time and your birth. That was when I knew that you had to be mine and not fully human, and so I continued to watch. Others of my kind" Essah sighed and cut himself off. "Well, I wanted to make sure that you would live. Soon after, you were born. I was there, unseen, and was very pleased with you. However, the humans were not. They were all in an uproar, especially the one called Faimbril, the lord of your town." 

"Grandfather," he clarified offhandedly; there was no love lost between his mother's father and him either. "But, if you were there," Sekhmet asked hesitantly, "why did you leave me here? If you knew they hated me-" 

He shook his head, a frown settling on those otherworldly features. "I had no choice in that matter; I am sorry. There was a time when I thought I might have to take you away to live elsewhere, with other humans - your mother's husband Ayaken was shocked, but Faimbril and Viraz wanted you killed. I was prepared to rescue you, but fortunately Rielvia worked her charm on her father, and you were allowed to live. You see, she knew that you might be her only child and didn't want to give you up, although she too was rather" 

_You can say it, she hated me like everyone else. _"Oh," Sekhmet said suddenly, "Mother's having another baby. Is it yours again too?" 

There was mild surprise on Essah's face, and he shook his head. "No, I have only seen her once since then, and only from a distance" 

"I'm glad," he murmured, receiving a frown for his words but not really wanting to explain them at the moment. Well, at least that would make Viraz happy, and when _he_ was happy so was everyone else. "Please, go on F-Father." 

"Very well," the tall man said with a nod. "There was much talk, of course, but none dared suggest in public that the daughter of the lord had been unfaithful to her husband. However, they felt that something had to be done, and so they had a meeting of sorts. They were at a loss for an explanation, but one there, a wealthy yet low-ranking merchant, had a solution. 

"Viraz - of course, that was who he was - suggested that perhaps Ayaken was a snake-demon in disguise. This neatly sidestepped the question of Rielvia's faithfulness, and the people decided, for their purposes, that it was the truth. Ayaken was accused of being a demon, and you were the main proof. He was executed, and shortly after, Rielvia married Viraz, who had merely been waiting for a chance like this. That was why he risked losing respect by accepting you along with your mother." 

Essah glanced down at the ground briefly and sighed when Sekhmet made no move to say anything else. "I watched you and the others from time to time, as my lord permitted, but did not interfere, or show myself. You must believe that it was a decision I did not come to lightly." 

He searched his son's face for a reaction, which Sekhmet felt a little pleasure in withholding. What would be the point in getting angry and storming around at a 'what if'? So, what if his father had shown himself earlier? What good would it have done? The only thing that mattered was that now - now he had an ally, at least, someone on his side, and it felt very good. 

"When you began coming to this clearing regularly, I hid my sword in the river for you to find," the snake-god explained. "You did, but sooner than I expected. I waited until the time was right to show myself to you and accept you as my son. And, so far, you have done nothing to dishonor me, and indeed have borne your burdens well for one of your age. Perhaps now they can be eased somewhat." 

Sekhmet tried to digest all this information, knowing that, even if he never saw his father again, his life would be changing from that moment on. He knew who he was, now, and who his parents were that had to count for something. He stood up, leaving the sword there, and turned away from Essah, frowning thoughtfully into the river and becoming aware of the movement of his father standing up behind him. 

He sighed. "So, now I know my mother is a whore, and took advantage of my birth to have her husband killed and marry her lover, but that won't do me any good." He felt Essah's hand on his shoulder, and turned around slowly. "What will, do you know? What can I do now?" 

In lieu of a direct response, Essah gestured at the broken branches lying strewn about. "Perhaps you would like to practice with a living being?" he asked softly. 

Sekhmet smiled up at him hesitantly. "Yes, Father," he said, feeling the word come easily, almost impatiently, to his lips. "I would like that." 

* * * * * 

"You bastard!" Viraz snarled, pulling back his fist for another blow. Sekhmet, biting his lip as a wave of stale fear rose inside him, tensed and then jumped to the side, and the large bearded man threw his whole weight against the wall, ripping a large hole in the oiled paper. It only served to make him madder as he pulled back, kicking debris from a low bamboo table he'd broken out of his way. When he recovered, Viraz lunged for him again. 

_I can't take this anymore! He's always obsessing over that stupid baby and drinking too much! Is it my fault no one will buy from him because he always smells like cheap sake now? Why can't he just get into tavern fights like every other drunkard and leave me out of it?_ Sekhmet jumped away again, taking advantage of his small size, and Viraz lumbered past. 

"Hold still, damn you!" he howled, and Sekhmet managed to chuckle. 

"I don't think so," he gasped, but suddenly his heart began to beat faster, if that was even possible, and he found himself cornered. Viraz cackled in glee and advanced forward, spit flying everywhere. Sekhmet stared back at him, reaching blindly for something to use as a weapon. 

His hand closed around a stray piece of bamboo from the remains of the table they'd broken earlier. He seized it in both hands and cracked it with all his strength over Viraz's head. It shattered into pieces, and Viraz stopped cold. Sekhmet glared at him, clenching his own fists, and felt his eyes go wide as the large man shuddered and then fell heavily to the mats, drool dripping down his lip to pool beneath him as he laid there, out cold. 

The twelve-year-old boy sunk back against the wall, gasping heavily, and slid down to rest on the floor with a sigh, his knees tucked up close to his chest. "Now," he mumbled to himself. "I have to kill him, now." He leaned his head back against the wooden beam and began to think. _I want him dead, but I don't want to just - stab him in the night. They'd know I did it and they'd execute me. I bet if anyone else ever killed him they'd blame me anyway. There has to be some way to do it and not get caught. Maybe I should ask Father the next time we practice._

* * * * * 

"So, what do you think?" Sekhmet questioned, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. He'd waited until their usual training was over to bring up his plan of killing his stepfather, half-sure the snake-god would disapprove of such cold-blooded murder. However, Essah pondered for a moment, and then crouched down on the ground, acquiring a look of concentration. In a few minutes' time, the largest snake Sekhmet had ever seen slithered up, right into his outstretched hand. 

"Ah!" Sekhmet exclaimed. "How-" He let the statement trail off, kneeling next to his father. Almost unconsciously he reached out to touch the hard black scales, even though it would probably strike at him. However, it did nothing, laying coiled in Essah's lap. 

"Because you carry the blood of the snake-gods in your veins, you have some of our powers," Essah proclaimed. "The power to control snakes is only one of them. You will not have as much control as a full snake-god, but it will serve your purposes. I will train you in this as well." 

"Powers," Sekhmet repeated softly, leaning his elbow on the man's thigh and trailing his fingers across the snake's coils. Suddenly, one by one, all his idle fantasies seemed to be coming true. "I really have powers teach me, Essah, Father, please!" 

Essah smiled at him, hesitantly placing a hand on his back before quickly letting it fall away. "I will, my son. It will take some time, however. By the time you are ready, it will be well into summer. Then you can send the snake in to kill your stepfather, making it appear like a natural accident. These things do happen, especially in summer," he added, almost to himself. 

"Yes, someone was bitten by a snake and died last year," Sekhmet said, nodding. It had taken a lot of arguing, and even Viraz reluctantly stepping in to prove the half-breed was with them at the time, to keep him from being accused of causing that to happen. It had occurred often enough and to no one in particular, however, that they were not always looking to blame him for it anymore. 

"Be warned, though," Essah said, breaking into his thoughts. "You must be careful. They will connect you with the snake immediately. Therefore you must be good enough to control it from the next room, and make sure you are with other people when it happens, or else they will think you put it in with him." 

"Oh, I'll be careful," he promised, nodding eagerly. "Can you show me now?" 

"Very well." The snake suddenly sprang to life, lifting its head, and Sekhmet quickly jerked his fingers away. It slid to the ground and went off to the left. Essah stared at it, concentrating, and it turned to the right. Then he brought it back over to him, and held out his hand. 

Sekhmet tried to shout out a warning as the snake struck at his father, but immediately felt a little foolish. The snake seemed frozen in mid-strike, and Essah was just sitting there calmly. His eyes widened involuntarily. 

"Now it is your turn. I will make sure it does not harm you. Reach out with your mind and touch the snake's." 

Sekhmet nodded and then frowned in concentration. _How do you reach out with your mind? He makes it sound so simple, but I don't even know where to start. _He tried to make everything go blank, pushing away the little thoughts that nagged. After a while, though he didn't know how long, he felt something, he thought, but whatever it was left as soon as it had been there. He made a frustrated noise. 

"You are trying too hard," Essah told him soothingly. "Relax. It will be harder for you, because of your human blood, but not impossible. You must have patience. Try again." 

"All right." Sekhmet relaxed himself, closing his eyes. He let his mind go blank, and then felt that strange feeling again, almost as if he was changing shape. He took a deep breath and then released it, and then his eyes flew open. 

Everything looked distorted and very, very large. He felt himself move forward, slithering across the ground. Suddenly there was motion above him, and, panicked, he struck out at it, consumed by the feeling that this was prey, meat. He felt himself being lifted off the ground, and twisted wildly - and then suddenly came back to himself, gasping. 

His vision focused, and he saw Essah standing above him, the snake in his hands, nodding approvingly. "You did well, considering. Do not try it unless I am here to protect you, until you get better. You almost lost yourself, became the snake totally, and I might not be able to return you if that happens." 

"I understand," he replied, still shaking. He clenched his fists tightly to try and control it, getting readjusted to seeing the world in color again, to being able to blink. "That - that was amazing!" 

"It is. Soon it will not be so overwhelming." 

Sekhmet grinned, feeling that wave of maliciousness consume him again. Not much longer now, and then he'd never have to put up with beatings, with insults and taunts. No one would be able to prove it, but _everyone_ would know who had done it. And then he could start to live his life "I'm sure I'll get the hang of it. And then Viraz will die!" 

* * * * * 

He had to be so very quiet so they wouldn't notice him, not just because of the impropriety but also the bad luck he'd bring by being present at the birth of his new sibling. He hadn't planned on being there when Eri brought Rielvia back to the bedroom after her labor started, but now he was trapped until he could slip out unnoticed. If they _knew_ he'd been there, well, there would be hell to pay, he was sure. He wouldn't have been at home at all if it wasn't the rainy season 

Rielvia cried out in pain for the thousandth time, and Sekhmet covered his ears with his hands, trying to block it out. He curled up on his side, peering through the gap in the sliding wall that created the alcove where he slept, listening to everything going on in the next room. He wasn't exactly interested in the process, but morbid curiosity and the fact that there was too much noise kept him watching. His mother's labored breathing, the old servant-turned-midwife's pseudo-reassuring murmurs he didn't know how long it had been going on, all night, perhaps, but he hadn't been able to sleep at all. 

"My lady," Eri said suddenly, her voice jarring as it came almost out of nowhere; she dripped sarcasm at the title, however, for she had never approved of Rielvia and now scorned her for embarrassing herself and crying out at her contractions. The older woman's voice dropped in pitch as she knelt next to the pregnant woman, who was laying on her side with legs drawn up close; torchlight glinted off the short length of metal she held in one hand. "If it is a demon, I will take care of it when it arrives, and you as well." 

She shook her head wearily, raising one hand to limply swipe sweat from her forehead. "No need. It won't be a demon, Eri," the black-haired woman said thickly. 

"Better that it dies, and you, before the master knows of it," she persisted, turning the knife so the light ran down it like a fiery spark. 

"I said - it's not a demon- aah!" she managed to reply. "Put the damn knife - down!" 

Sekhmet shifted his position on his sleeping mat, pulling up onto an elbow. _Careful what you say to that hag while she's got a blade between your legs, Mother, _he thought at her, almost amused. 

There was a deep frown on her wrinkled face that turned into a sneer as Rielvia choked back another scream. "Come now, you must endure quietly, else you'll wake your husband up and everyone will know that you are so weak as to cry out. You are thirty-five; that is much too old for childbearing." 

Making no reply, she groaned, though more softly, and hugged her legs close, gritting her teeth as she pushed, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps. Eri shifted position, almost resentful of having to do this duty, especially so late at night, but her expression perked up as she realized it was almost over. "Oh, see, the head is coming now," she murmured pleasantly, rising from her kneeling position to slide open the door, leaning outward. "Natani," she whispered, with a nudge waking her granddaughter from her doze in the hallway, "you may bring the water and wrappings now. It's time." 

The boy in the shadows laid down again, pillowing his head on his arm, watching as the older woman returned to his mother, kneeling once more to check the progress. Natani returned with cloths and a bowl of warm water which she placed next to the two, handing one of the scraps of fabric to Eri, who placed it over her own lap. The younger woman watched curiously as Rielvia pushed with yet another sharp cry and Eri gingerly guided the baby's head out into her hands, quickly and efficiently delivering the child with a look of distaste on her face. Loud wailing filled the air as spirit entered the baby, who took its first breaths on Earth. 

"Oh!" Natani gasped, her fingers flying to her lips as Eri cradled the infant in the crook of her arm, letting the cord die naturally on its own. Sekhmet frowned, unable to see around the women's forms what was going on. He didn't really doubt Essah's claim that this baby wasn't his, but even so he wanted to see for himself. 

Eri sighed, dipping more cloth in the warm water to wash the birthing fluids from the wailing baby, and Rielvia managed a weak chuckle, loosening her grip on her knees a little. "It's a girl," the old servant said in an offhanded tone, swabbing mucus from the child's dark orange hair. "Normal." 

Sekhmet gave a half-smile, closing his eyes again. So he had a sister now and she probably would be keeping him awake for the rest of the night. 

"You'll have to tell Viraz," his mother said, looking up at Natani out of the corner of her eye. "He'll want to know." 

"O-of course, my lady," the mousy woman said, turning to quickly hurry out of the room. 

_There's gonna be a celebration, maybe a week from now, after the baby's presentation at the shrine. That's when I can kill Viraz. I'm ready, I know it. I can control the snake easily now. He'll die in a week. _Comforted by that knowledge, Sekhmet rolled over, sighing almost inaudibly. Perhaps now he could get some sleep - as long as he could learn to block the sound of a crying baby out of mind. 

* * * * * 

Standing in the doorway of the thatched-roof house, Sekhmet watched his relatives and their friends walk down the road from the shrine, heading back where a small party would be held to introduce his new sister, whom Viraz had named Jynavy, to the clan. She had just been presented at the shrine, now that a week had passed and both mother and child could safely go outside again. 

He rocked on his heels, impertinently standing on the railing that divided the indoor tatami mats from the outside, which was certain to bring bad luck. Well, he already had enough of his own; more couldn't possibly hurt. Not even on a day like today, the day when Viraz was going to die. Not even bad luck could keep him from killing him today, one way or another. If the snake failed then he had his sword, and _that_ would do it, no matter who was there, even if he was executed afterward. 

_Just stay out of sight_; that was all Viraz had said before giving him a beating 'to help him remember' that left him with ribs that still ached with every movement. A marriage wasn't truly consummated until a child was born from the union, and his stepfather had waited nearly twelve years for this unspoken authority. Now that he was truly the man of the household with progeny of his own, even if it was a girl, his wife's _other_ child was even more of an embarrassment to him. __

_Just stay out of sight,_ Sekhmet thought, _I don't think so, not when I need to be seen in order for this to work. But I think I'll just let them know I'm there without making a big spectacle... I really don't want to be stared at all day._

He retreated back into the house as the party drew nearer, extracting Viraz's go set from its box and setting up a game to play with himself while he knew the man wouldn't be inside; Viraz rarely played the board game, as he always lost, but he would still throw a fit if he saw it being used. Of course, playing go with one's self was little fun, but he had nothing else to do while he waited for the festivities outside to get going and for Viraz to get drunk. That part was important, or else he might notice the snake coming and kill it before it could bite him, constrict around him 

With a sigh, the green-haired boy moved another of the pieces and then, frowning, swept them all off the board in one angry motion. He then busied himself picking them up, and when the set was put away he decided it was time to go outside and let himself be seen. He slipped outdoors, making sure to stay on the fringes of the milling group of chatting people, avoiding the children who were taking the opportunity to chase each other, wrestle and play. _They_ didn't know someone was going to die today. 

They did notice him, he saw, though since he was staying out of the way they weren't very concerned, loosened by drink and festivity, and though from time to time they'd glance around nervously, to see if he was sneaking up on them, they'd soon go back to eating, or dancing, or talking, and forget all about him again. Sekhmet sat behind a tree, watching everyone as they milled around. People there were too many people! He wanted to jump out of his skin. 

"Oh, _there_ you are." He was jerked from his thoughts and flinched at the voice, jumping defensively to his feet. "Why are you even around here?" Viraz snarled, although in a strange undertone as he was still out in the public eye and not drunk enough yet to stop caring. "Why don't you run off to that damned forest and stay there before you scare my guests off, little shit?" 

_And they take their presents with them,_ he thought, replying sullenly, "Jynavy's my sister - ow!" He winced, rubbing his head lightly after the man cuffed him with the side of his fist. 

"My daughter has nothing to do with you, understand?" he hissed, smacking Sekhmet again the moment he took his hand away. "Now I want you to-" 

"Uncle Viraz?" a high-pitched voice broke in. "Oh, _here_ you are!" 

Angry at being interrupted, the orange-haired man spun around and then his brows furrowed as he saw the small girl of about ten standing in front of him. "Who are you? Oh, wait, that's right, you're Herke's girl, the tomboy." 

She grinned a bit impishly, bowing to him. "Nobutoshi Lyonta, Uncle Viraz," she introduced herself. "Daddy sent me to-" The girl paused, peering around the man's large bulk at the boy standing in the shadows. "Ooh, look, it's you." 

"Eh, you aren't afraid of him?" Viraz questioned his friend's daughter, scratching his beard. 

Lyonta shook her head emphatically. "I'm not afraid of nothing, 'specially boys." She raised a small fist, craning her head upward so it looked as though it was blocking out the large man's nose. "I can beat 'em all." 

For a moment he looked astounded at her insolence, and then he laughed loudly, large hands coming to rest on his sash, thumbs hooking under the taut fabric. "Thing like you? Hah, that I'd like to see. I knew your father would find trouble, raising you like a boy. No decent boy's going to marry _you_." 

Her nose scrunched up in a look of disgust as she tossed her loose brown hair around her face with a huff. "I don't want to marry _any_ boy!" she scoffed. 

Viraz got a conniving look on his face, then glanced back over his shoulder at Sekhmet, who was about to take the opportunity to sneak away but froze, scowling. "So, you're so tough, eh? Think you can beat him, then?" he said in a spiteful voice, seeing in the encounter a way to embarrass an upstart girl and further torture the child who lived under his roof. 

Lyonta regarded the half-breed boy, the laughing light in her green eyes dimming as she looked at him. He avoided her eyes, not wanting to scare her, to make Viraz feel proud of weakening another female. "Looks like someone already did," she commented quietly, twisting her hands together behind her. 

"Go on," Viraz urged. "He might look like a demon, but he's really just weak and pathetic. I'd like to see him defeated by a little girl." 

_Die!_ Sekhmet thought ferociously. Lyonta's soulful, fearless eyes on him were stinging worse than any wound could, and yet he could not bring himself to meet her gaze. _I can't hurt a girl, it would just make them hate me more! You know you're gonna win this no matter what! Die, die, die!_

"Poor boy," she whispered, almost to herself, her fist clenching and unclenching once as she held it up. 

"Lyonta! I thought I told you - oh, Viraz!" a man's voice broke in as the girl's father arrived, striding up to them. When he saw Sekhmet there his face paled in fear and he quickly snatched hold of his daughter's arm, pulling her behind him with a fierce yank. "The demon!" he exclaimed. "Come away now, Lyonta; do you know what he _does_ to girls?" 

She tugged halfheartedly, protesting, "But I'm not afraid!" The lanky man shook her arm hard, and she quieted, frowning. 

Viraz smirked at his friend's reaction, turning all the way to face him, and as soon as he had done so Sekhmet started moving backward toward the bushes and his avenue of escape. "Herke, you old mother hen! Come, now, you shouldn't be so-" 

With a rustle of leaves, the green-haired boy was gone, moving to find a better place to hide while he waited for his opportunity to tear the life from his stepfather. Something inside ached, apart from bruised ribs, and he was mystified as to what it was, or its cause. 

He climbed up into a nearby tree to observe as the party began to wane, and Viraz got drunker and drunker. Finally, he watched as the man began to reel, off-balance, and Rielvia spoke quietly in his ear. He got angry and nearly pushed her, but stopped when an older man next to her - his mother's father, Takeda Faimbril - warned him off with a deep scowl. Making some rude joke and laughing loudly, he stumbled away toward the house to sleep off the drink.Sekhmet could hear his mother excusing him to the guests around her, and felt a sudden, heady rush of excitement. _Perfect, perfect! Now's the time... _

He dropped from the tree, startling a dog laying in its shade which immediately began to bark. Annoyed, he pulled back a foot to kick it but thought better of that, as the barking was attracting attention to him, and he needed them to know for sure that he was still outside, and nowhere near Viraz. Crouching down, he made motions as if he was trying to quiet the animal, inwardly concentrating, 'reaching out' with his mind as his father had shown him. 

Finally he located the snake, lying in the tall grass outside the house where he had put it, and guided it out. Moving through the shadow cast by the dwelling, it slid unnoticed through the open front door and into the quiet house. Sekhmet saw through the snake's eyes as it went across the floor, moving with a single-minded purpose that someone might have thought odd for a serpent, if anyone else had been inside to see it. Wriggling through the small gap left in the door to the bedroom, he saw Viraz's great hulk lying on his mat on the floor, chest rising and falling evenly with every breath he took. 

His heart thrumming with excitement, Sekhmet moved the snake over to him and sank its fangs deeply into his neck. Viraz screamed and sat up, allowing the snake's wildly swinging body to wrap around his neck, and he clawed at the coils frantically. The boy could almost taste the blood in his own mouth, and Viraz let out another, strangled-sounding, yell before making choking noises. The people outside heard him and went rushing in to see what was going on, and Sekhmet stood up lethargically and followed, absently identifying his mother's suddenly screaming voice with his ears even as the snake sensed its frequency from inside. 

Viraz was struggling limply with the snake, and Rielvia shrieked again, begging someone to help. A few of the men pulled out knives, no one having brought swords or other weapons to a party, but they were hesitant about using them, worried about getting bitten or hitting Viraz as he thrashed around. Sekhmet concentrated on squeezing the coils tighter, standing unnoticed at the back of the crowd. 

Suddenly he became aware that someone was saying his name. He blinked to bring his mother's face into focus as she stood in front of him, tears running down her face, yet behind that image he was tightening his coils still further, biting into the soft flesh again. "Sekhmet," she pleaded, touching his arm with her free hand, surprising him. She had hardly ever touched him after he grew old enough to move around on his own. "Please, Sekhmet, help him!" Rielvia swallowed heavily. "I know - you don't want to. But do it!" 

He regarded her for a moment. This was certainly an odd switch in things, that he was able to lord something over her, something he alone could do. "Did you think I knew how?" he asked. "Mother, I don't have powers, you know that. I might get bit." 

"Just do it," she whispered in an intense voice. "Hurry! Before-" 

He shrugged then, unable to fake sorrow at the thought of Viraz dying. They would all know it was false emotion, anyhow. "I'll try, Mother," he finally replied before walking forward and over to Viraz, the group of breathless people parting before him and closing in behind him. He crouched down near Viraz, smiling beatifically as the thrashing man's eyes widened even more upon seeing him. _That is an interesting shade of blue he's turning, _Sekhmet thought distractedly, a thrill running through his chest at the sight of the terror upon his stepfather's face. _He knows... oh, he _knows_ how this happened, and that makes it even better._

He began to concentrate even harder, one hand raised as if looking for an opening to grab for the coiled reptile. Sekhmet reached out for the snake's head and braced himself, mentally telling it what to do. It did exactly what he ordered. It bit him. 

A cruel, throbbing jolt shot through him, and he yanked his hand away with a gasp of pain. He fell back, cradling his bleeding, stinging hand against his chest. _Oh, that hurts! _He bit his lip to keep from crying. _That_ wouldn't do at all. 

There was a collective gasp from the gawking people crammed into the room and a wail of despair from Rielvia. Jynavy began to cry, little red fists flailing in the air, and then suddenly, as if he'd been turned off, Viraz stopped moving, his head lolling back, eyes bulging and gaping wide open. Someone immediately darted forward and sliced at the snake with a long knife, effectively cutting it in two. Blood from the snake and from the shallow gash the blade had left in Viraz's neck mingled together, staining the cloth covering the sleeping mat. 

Sekhmet felt it as the snake was cut apart, felt the blade drawn through his middle and slicing into him as if the blow had hit him. He quickly withdrew his mind from the snake's as all functions left it and it died, bending over his knees, unable to muffle the scream that escaped from between his clenched teeth, though no one was paying enough attention to him to realize that _this_ pain wasn't just an effect of the snake's poison in his veins. 

"He's dead" someone announced, bending to check Viraz for breath and heartbeat. 

Rielvia began to sob into Natani's shoulder, holding her baby close against her, muffling Jynavy's wails a little. All the entertainment gone and a pall of horror hanging over the guests, some of the people slowly began to leave, others standing around uselessly. Some men pulled a blanket over the body, prompting fresh sobs from his mother. 

Sekhmet stared at the halves of the snake, one part still clutched in Viraz's dead hand. _Goodbye,_ he thought at it. _You have served me well. _He felt his hand throb and curled around it with a soft hiss. Was he going to have to die to kill Viraz? The forest, maybe Essah would know what to do 

An older woman, her head wreathed in wild white hair, stared at him seriously. He thought he recognized her as the town seer Anis, the woman who told the future. She was almost as feared as he was, and certainly had a lot more respect. "So," she announced evenly, her piercing amber eyes fixed only upon Sekhmet. 

"What are you doing here?" Rielvia shrieked hysterically as Natani hid her face behind her sleeve, blocking herself from the eyes of both seer and half-breed. "You weren't invited! You witch!" 

Ignoring his mother, Anis removed a small knife from her sleeve and crouched down in front of him, taking his wrist and yanking his wounded hand toward her sharply. Sekhmet gasped as the movement sent fire wicking up toward his shoulder, tears springing to his eyes unbidden. "Stop," he protested, "what are you doing?" 

"That bite will kill you," she told him. "Do not move." 

"No, don't," he gasped, trying to tug his hand away. Anis pulled it closer with a hard movement, regarding the two puncture-marks in his small palm. With the point of the knife she quickly made a slit in the skin between the two marks. Sekhmet winced in pain, his breath catching in his throat as the woman bent her head, repeatedly sucking the venom from his wound and spitting it uncaringly on the mat. 

Natani gasped in shock, turning away from the sight with her arms still around her stunned mistress. "How could she _do_ that?" she moaned in revulsion. "The demon's blood!" 

Rielvia suddenly shoved Natani's hands away, taking a step forward, her messy hair flying around her. "Witch! Seer! What are you doing in my home?!" she cried. "How did you know-" 

"Who _am_ I, woman?" Anis snapped, her fierce, bright eyes and his blood around her lips driving his mother backward almost unconsciously. "It would do you well to remember that," she mumbled, turning her gaze back to him. 

"Why did you?" Sekhmet choked out, staring at her in amazement. 

"Wash that hand carefully and keep it bandaged. There is still much for you to do," the seer told the green-haired boy before lowering her voice even more so that the spectators could not hear them. "Your vengeance against _him_ was cunning," she whispered. "I am indebted more than you will know." She released his wrist almost violently, standing and turning on her heel. 

In a whirl of robes Anis stalked away, leaving only silence and Rielvia's choked-back tears behind her. "She's insane," the black-haired woman cried out. The two servants had made her sit down, Eri cradling Jynavy against her shoulder with one strong arm. 

Sekhmet stood up carefully, holding his wounded hand close to his chest, and as he passed to go outside he looked down at his mother. She watched him through her tears and he met her gaze, holding it there, like some kind of game. "What is it, Mother?" he asked innocently before feeling all his derision and scorn melt away like snow. Viraz was dead - did that mean she could love him now? Now he wouldn't hurt her either. "He's gone now. I-" Suddenly he choked on his words, shaking his head. "Why are you crying? He's gone! You shouldn't be crying!" 

She looked away sharply, her chest heaving as she tried desperately to restrain screams, cries of pain and grief. "No, I - no you you! You, get out of my sight," Rielvia snarled. "Just - get out! Get out! Get out! _Get out_!" 

Unable to restrain a cry of - of what? Sadness? Astonishment? Regret? - he turned sharply and ran for the door, the gossiping guests who had remained flying out of his path as if he'd pushed them. The forest loomed ahead, just beyond the wall, just as it always had and always would. What did he need of them, anyway? He had himself and now he had peace - freedom. What did he care if his mother still hated him, just as before? Viraz was dead. He'd killed him. He'd finally did it. 

Viraz was dead, and his life was his own. 


	4. Part Three - Fallen Hero

Standard Disclaimer: Warlords, et al, belong to Sunrise. My characters and concepts (including the snake-gods) belong to me, do not use without asking. If you ask, I probably won't say no. 

"Histories: Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Three - Fallen Hero 

Sekhmet sprawled out over the thick limb of the tree, relaxing on his stomach high above the ground, gently rustling foliage hiding him from view. Nearby and below the sounds of battle could be heard: swords clashing together, metal upon metal, fierce shouting, surprised yells. Through the leaves Sekhmet could see them practicing, the clan's warriors, all young men about his age or older. He appraised their skill, comparing it to what he'd learned from Essah's training, and found himself thinking that he could beat any one of them. He smiled at the thought. What fun, to beat them into the ground, hurt _them_ instead, all in the name of practice. 

He'd hidden up here to watch the warriors many times before, yet only recently had he started to notice they weren't the invincible fighters he'd thought they were as a child. But even as he silently mocked their skills, Sekhmet still wished that somehow he could be out in the field with them, showing them all how good he was, what he had learned from the three years he'd been practicing with his father. For soon enough, it would be practice no longer. 

The country was in the midst of civil war, and it was finally beginning to affect their little forest-surrounded valley. Sekhmet's town was located on the border of the land belonging to the enemy lord of Tsuchi; though they were mostly left alone, his clan of barbarians and outcasts was still under the jurisdiction of their province's daimyo. This daimyo had recently ordered them, through Faimbril, to take over the nearest small town across the Tsuchi border. 

Their lord, who lived in the capital of Kaze, ranked so high and so unconcerned with their little town that Sekhmet didn't even know his name, was trying to become the ruler of the country, taking over the land of the other rulers. Now it was their turn to make a contribution to further his ambition, and so the warriors practiced even more now, leaving the planting and harvesting to women, children and elders. 

Leaning forward a little, Sekhmet frowned as he heard an order being passed through the group, and then the warriors stopped to take a break, retreating underneath other nearby trees to get out of the heat of the sun. He froze, hoping they'd leave quickly and not notice him - for a while it seemed he was in luck, until one last man came into view, wandering closer to his tree and then sitting heavily in the shade, pulling off his helmet and running his hands through his sweaty dark blonde hair. 

The green-haired boy tried to stay still, but he couldn't help but move after so long. His leg was falling asleep, and so he shifted slightly, biting his lip and hoping it wasn't too noticeable how the leaves were rustling around him as the limb swayed. However, the day was windless, and the young man below looked up before getting to his feet. Sekhmet could see his face now and recognized him as Miyamoto Datai, seventeen years old and the leader of the warriors despite his youth. His fighting skill had gained him instant acclaim and popularity from the people of their small town and respect from the veteran warriors. 

"Who's up there? What are you doing?" Datai called, standing in a relaxed way although one hand still rested, deceptively casual, on the hilt of his long sword. 

Sekhmet paused a moment, and seeing no other alternative, answered him simply, "I'm watching the practice." On probably rather foolish impulse, he added, "You're pretty pathetic. I could beat any of you." He waited for Datai's response, somewhat amused. The man was used to being known as the best warrior around, so he was probably going to get mad and make a fool of himself in indignation. _At least I'm safe up here; there's no way he can climb in that armor._

Datai was flustered for a moment at the sound of his voice. "The de- Sekhmet?" he said incredulously before regaining his composure. He shook his head before his face took on a confident smile. "Well then, why don't you come down out of there and prove it?" 

"All right," Sekhmet responded, rolling apparently carelessly off the limb but making sure he would catch onto it before he fell. He hung a moment and then jumped lithely to the ground, landing in front of the taller man and straightening to look up at him defiantly. 

The leader's dark eyes widened but he did not look away, almost as if sizing him up. The other warriors made surprised noises as they noticed him in turn and pointed the scene out to the others, not a few making those annoying warding signs or breathing quiet protective charms under their breaths. "If you are merely boasting, or if you plan to use dark powers or the like to cheat," he finally murmured, "you had best run now, because I will not let you go later." 

It was kind of funny; he'd expected this response, but not as much as he'd expected just plain fear, or swaggering on Datai's part. "It doesn't mean anything if you cheat," the half-breed replied seriously, just barely managing to restrain his startlement at the smile he saw in the warrior's eyes at that. 

Deciding that Sekhmet was going to take the challenge seriously, Datai beckoned for him over to the others as he told them of the contest. He watched their faces carefully, and for many of them the fear melted away, and they started to act offended at the thought that he was better than them. _Typical,_ he mused with a small half-smile on his face. It was a face to make people nervous, not that he needed much help to do that. 

"I will be the one to disprove this boy's statement," Datai announced, as Sekhmet knew he would, and the thought satisfied him. Datai was the best warrior their poor little clan had, and there was no point in doing this if he didn't fight the best. A plan began to arise in the back of his mind, a thought that maybe he could get something out of this impromptu fight he'd gotten himself into. His thoughts phased back into reality just as Datai said, "Go and get your weapon and armor, and we shall see what you can do." 

With a curt nod for his opponent, and a sneer for the rest of the warriors, Sekhmet went off toward the dark forest, hearing the fading clamor of the others praising Datai's bravery as he left. His heart was pounding faster in excitement now, at the thought of being able to finally show off what he could do. _I know what they'd say if I became the best warrior - it was all tricks. But at least _I'll_ know for sure that it was all my own skill and I suppose that's what matters. Still_

When he arrived he began to pull away the stones that covered his sword, pushing them aside carelessly. The thought occurred to him that maybe he should keep it in the house now that he didn't have to worry about Viraz finding it. He still spent more time here than there, but it wouldn't seem right for a real warrior to keep his weapon hidden in the ground in the forest. 

Shrugging that to the back of his mind, he began to unwrap the cloth that protected it just as he felt a familiar quaver in the air. Turning around, lifting his sword from its rocky bed, he swung it once as if testing its balance, which was as perfect as ever. "Essah," he announced to the figure that now stood there, "I'm going to fight the leader of the warriors! I said I could beat any of them and now I'm going to prove it." 

Essah smiled at him, giving him a solemn nod. "You will," he said with great assurance, as if he knew it was the truth. "You've been doing very well lately. Perhaps this will gain you some acceptance." 

"Maybe," he answered, shrugging carelessly. It probably wouldn't matter at this point if he was accepted or not, would it? Sekhmet suddenly frowned, remembering something. "But I have no armor, and he does. Won't that put me at a disadvantage?" 

"Mere skill has defeated a warrior wrapped in armor many a time," he replied almost contemplatively, eyes half-closed for a moment. "Fight with honor, Sekhmet. Always. Do not disgrace me." 

_By becoming the demon they think I am?_ "I won't, Father," he promised, putting away that enticing thought. With a grin at the snake-god, he turned and started back to town, his sword held self-assuredly on his shoulder. 

* * * * * 

"You have no armor?" Datai questioned, looking him over as he returned to the field where the warriors were waiting. 

Coming to a halt in front of him, Sekhmet merely shook his head. He was wearing only a rather ragged brown yukata, a nicer blue-patterned one over that, and straw sandals. He felt somewhat vulnerable, looking at the older man in his lacquered armor and helmet, yet remained calm. _I'd think that was obvious, _he thought. _If I had it I'd be wearing it. But I'm still going to beat you, armor or not._

Frowning, the warrior took off his helmet and handed it to a startled man standing by. "Then I shall fight without it as well," he announced, working at the ties holding the plates together. Some of the others came over to help him, but most of them just stood there, surprised. 

"Is that wise, Sir Miyamoto?" a younger teenager asked haltingly. "He'll curse you, put you under a spell. You'll be completely unprotected." 

Datai shrugged, bending and lifting his knee to remove the red-corded shin guards from his bare legs. "He's yet unproven, almost still a boy. It wouldn't be right." Datai looked at Sekhmet, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit. "Besides, I think he will fight fairly. Did you not give me your word, earlier?" 

"Yes, of course," Sekhmet put in, absently running a finger up and down the hilt of his sword as Datai was hurriedly de-armored. "Why wouldn't I fight fairly?" 

"The word of a demon," someone muttered derisively, but no one followed up, since their leader was ready, he too now only in robe and sandals, his katana unsheathed in his hand. 

_On equal ground now, _the half-breed thought, hoping that he wasn't going to end up regretting this. After all, his only other opponent had been his father, who of course could defeat him at any time. _I think this is going to be _fun__

He bowed formally, and Sekhmet, with a slight hesitation, repeated the gesture. Then, with a cry, he raised his sword horizontally, almost as if to hold it with both hands, and then suddenly swept forward. The younger boy, startled, just barely caught it with his own blade, feeling the impact jar upward through his arms. _Pay attention now, _he berated himself, evading the next slice and trying to return the attack. _His style is different than I'm used to from Father. _He was unable to respond when he should, barely blocking at all - it was unnerving, making him suddenly freeze in worry that he might not be that good after all, not in a _real_ fight 

But then something almost automatic took over and he jerked to the side as the sharp edge of the blade whipped past his face, slicing a small cut into his cheek. Shifting his own sword, he swept forward before Datai could recover, the pointed tip of the blade catching in the shoulder of the taller man's robe and tearing apart the seam. He jerked away, startled, blinking at Sekhmet for a moment before lunging forward once more. The sound of metal clanging rang out again and again as each blow was parried, the two moving quickly but with either gaining little ground. 

He was only barely aware of the ring of men surrounding them, watching the contest with bated breath, each small nick or setback greeted with low, muffled gasps and exclamations - and as the battle wore on, there were more and more of these for both the fighters. Sekhmet was finding it harder to breathe and move so quickly at the same time, though he thought he might be gaining as Datai looked rather winded as well. _Come on, just one opening-_

Dragging in a breath, he attacked furiously, almost needing two hands to keep the sword in the air and swing it, but it was enough. With a bell-like ring his katana knocked Datai's from his hand, the blade whipping backward and nearly colliding with one of the spectators, who hurriedly moved out of the way. They were making dismayed noises, and not a few loud protests as, grinning at his luck, Sekhmet pressed forward and with another sweeping cut knocked him to the ground. 

Datai raised his arm in a sudden attempt to protect himself as the green-haired boy's blade began a downward, killing motion; he suddenly realized it, and with an effort he dragged himself backwards, staggering a little, before the sword could hit. _Not good to kill him, not good, no, _he told himself, feeling hot and his back sticky from the exertion of the fight. 

He watched as the other man slowly got to his feet, brown eyes looking at him in a stunned way before he silently turned to accept his sword back from the man who had picked it up. The warrior almost lethargically brushed himself off, still nearly fighting for breath, and then glanced around at the stunned faces of his comrades before turning and bowing to Sekhmet. Breathing hard as well, Sekhmet bowed back, noting without much surprise that Datai was the only one who'd look him in the eyes. He wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand, brushing stray strands of green hair out of his eyes, and when they'd both caught their breath Datai asked him, "Where did you learn to fight like that?" 

Sekhmet shook his head before even attempting to form the words. "You wouldn't like it if I told you." 

Datai nodded slowly, absently trying to lift the top part of his torn sleeve back to his shoulder again. He obviously knew what was meant by that statement, but did not dwell long on it. "You are the victor. Whatever is in my power to give, it is yours." 

_You couldn't give me what I really want, _Sekhmet thought to himself. Aloud he said, as he'd intended to all along, "I want to join the warriors." He crossed his arms in front of his chest, the sword dangling loosely from one hand, waiting for their reactions. 

"Do you wish to lead us?" he returned, narrowing his eyes a little. "You have the right to, having defeated me, though I will warn you that the men will not simply follow you." 

He shook his head vehemently, brushing away a trickle of blood at his temple. "No, I don't want to lead. Besides, I only won by luck." 

"Luck often is the only thing that saves a man from defeat," he replied with a shrug. "You shouldn't speak so badly of luck." 

The younger boy frowned a little, pushing that comment away. _I'd rather rely on myself. _"No, I just want to fight with you in the wars, protect the town. It's my clan too, for all that you don't want _me_." 

As he'd anticipated, there was a lot of discontented murmuring at this, but Datai stopped their protests despite the surprise he wore on his own face. "I would rather have him on my side than on the other, wouldn't you?" he admonished quietly. 

The affronted mutters slowed to a halt, though the group of men still wore distrustful expressions. They respected their captain, but he was just too willing to think the best of people. _Perhaps Datai _is_ too trusting, hmm? Well, we'll see in time, _Sekhmet thought at the warriors, glaring defiantly despite the fact that none of them would meet his gaze. _I'll show you what I'm made of, just wait and see._

The warrior leader turned to him, spreading his hands, the light sparkling down the length of his katana blade. "So be it, Sekhmet. You are now a warrior of our clan. May all your battles be victorious." 

* * * * * 

He looked up suddenly upon noticing his father's arrival - he was getting very good at sensing that particular strange energy that meant Essah was appearing. As he looked into those large golden eyes, he felt an irrepressible grin slowly spread across his face. "I won!" he cried. "They're letting me be one of the warriors!" 

Essah smiled down at him. "Well done," he replied, summoning his sword into his hand. "Show me how you did it." 

Jumping to his feet, he swung his sword into position, but before he could do anything else his eye caught on something strange standing behind his father. It definitely didn't belong in the woods, and he stared quizzically as a man-like figure in grayish-black armor detached itself from the shadows under the trees; it slowly raised its large spear. Essah frowned at him, and, startled, he managed to gasp out, "Father, there's something - behind you-" 

The snake-god glanced casually over his shoulder, and then his eyes widened. He spun around to stand in front of Sekhmet, his sword held defensively. "What do you want? He has no need of me now! You shouldn't be here!" Essah demanded, recognition in his voice. 

The boy peered around his father's arm, even more surprised at his reaction. Whatever this thing was, it didn't look as though it were horribly dangerous, though the eyes that looked out from the shadows of the helmet were definitely not human - if anything, they were something like his own. 

The gray-armored figure laughed, replying in a deep tone, "It is time; I have come for the boy. Give him up now, and you will not be harmed." It began to advance forward, flipping the spear to its other hand. 

"Do you _know_ who you're speaking to?" Essah made a hissing noise, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as he held it outward. "If you wish to throw yourself away, so be it. Talpa is not going to have my son!" The animated armor lunged at Essah, but he easily caught the blow with the edge of his sword, his free hand beginning to glow with a green-hued energy. The thing twisted his spear, catching the flat of Essah's blade between two of the prongs of his own weapon and holding him at a standstill there. 

Sekhmet stared at them, unable to react. He wasn't really worried, however, seeing the confidence in his father's movements; what the armor-thing had _said_ was bothering him. _Talpa? But that's- no, it can't be! Talpa's not real is he? He's a story - what would he want with me? _

He wasn't able to think about it for long, however, as two more of the soldiers crashed out of the bushes and rushed for him. Growling in annoyance as the first creature laughed mockingly, his father blocked one, shocking it to stillness with the energy in his hand. However, the other got past him and grabbed for Sekhmet. 

Jerking to attention, he remembered the sword in his own hand and struck at his attacker, hardly scratching the thing's gray-green armor. It began to whip a chain above its head; unlike the first one, it didn't seem to be able to speak. Drawing away from the blade that whooshed by his cheek, Sekhmet turned and thrust forward again, missing entirely. 

"You wasted your life!" Essah suddenly snarled, the gritty sound of grinding metal ringing through the clearing as he twisted the blade in his hand, sending the creature's spear whipping off to the side. In one more fluid movement he had run his opponent through, sending a filthy gray mist rising from the fallen armor. One more slash had struck down the armor-thing he'd shocked earlier, and he straightened up with a dour look on his face. 

Unwilling to look weak in front of his father, Sekhmet redoubled his efforts to defeat the remaining armor, which fought on mindlessly, automatically. Evading the swinging blade once more, he twisted around, a movement which hurt his side, and caught the soldier in the back, driving his sword deep into the gray metal. He was almost unable to pull the blade free as it toppled, smoke billowing out of the slash. Catching his breath, he glanced at Essah, who was staring off into the trees. "What was that all about?" 

The snake-god turned to face him, a weary expression on his face. "My master wishes to have you under his control. Never join the Dynasty, Sekhmet. If you promise me only one thing, let that be it. No matter what they tell you, it's only death, a trap with no way out." 

The Dynasty, that was just a story _The same as snake-gods were just a story? _his mind retorted nastily. "Your master is Talpa?" he exclaimed, his voice breaking annoyingly at the end of the question. "But he doesn't exist! It's just a story!" 

"No," Essah said firmly, "it's not. The demon Talpa invaded the Mortal World over five hundred years ago and was repelled. But he still exists, and still looks for a way to take over this world." 

He knew the story well, the same as he knew all the others: oni, demons, kitsune - and these were all real? But they had to be; his father was real enough. Wasn't that enough proof, enough for him to know that Essah wasn't lying? "If that's true," Sekhmet whispered back at him, unconsciously clenching the hilt of his sword in a kind of hug, "then is he your master? He is, isn't he, Father? You knew that armor-thing, you said" 

His father looked at him sadly. "Yes, Talpa is my master. But it was" He cut himself off violently, shaking his head, his wavy green hair flying around him as if blown by a strong wind. "No, I cannot say it was beyond my control." Spinning away, he stared up through the canopy of trees, obviously struggling with what to say. "I could have prevented it, but I was foolish, and-" 

Sekhmet bit his lip. _Essah's not evil, I know it. But then why would he serve a demon? _"Why?" he asked in a small voice, feeling a bit lost and not at all confident about his place in the world anymore. "Why did they want me?" 

"Because of the-" he began to answer, but broke off. "Because you're my son," he finally replied, not meeting his eyes. 

He was lying, the half-breed could tell, feeling a small headache forming behind his eye as he scowled up at the man's broad back. "Father-" Sekhmet started, a bit sternly. 

The tall snake-god whirled to face the boy, suddenly glaring. "You must never join Talpa!" he spat before disappearing abruptly, leaving Sekhmet very confused - and, though he hardly recognized the feeling himself, a bit disillusioned with his father. 

* * * * * 

Sekhmet had been walking home from practice one late summer evening when a figure on a small branching path stopped him literally in his tracks. He found his feet coming to a halt, simply turning to look up as Anis remained still upon the small overgrown trail, her arms crossed in front of her as she regarded him grimly. _What? _he thought, not sure what to say to her. The seer wasn't like the others, but that didn't mean he understood her any better. 

"Come with me," she ordered without preamble, and though he wore a quizzical expression on his face he followed the woman without question as she led him back to her house, a small hut set somewhat away from the others in the village, though still within the city walls. Anis, thanks to her powers, was feared enough that no one dared to hang around her home, which was probably fortunate as many of her possessions lay scattered outside the doorway like a child's forgotten toys. If not for her reputation, the cookware, tools, pottery and other implements would have been stolen long ago. 

The boy looked around with curiosity as she preceded him inside. The interior of the small two-room house was crammed with more various things, covering much of the surface of the floors and stacked against the walls. His eyes were wide at the shocking disarray, not to mention the sheer number of knick-knacks, blades, polished stones, and other things he couldn't even identify. _If anyone from town saw this, _Sekhmet thought, _they might die from shock!_

"Yes," the wild-haired seer said offhandedly, "you are the first I have invited here. You will not presume to question my ways, I hope." 

It wasn't a question, and the young warrior swallowed hard, taken off-guard by her answer to his unasked question. "Course not," he managed, ducking his head. It was so strange to be treated normally by a human, and he wasn't sure how to react. His usual sarcasm and disdain seemed out of place in Anis' presence. She didn't volunteer anything more, and a long-kept question arose in his mind. "Um, Anis - I mean, um, my lady-" 

"Anis is fine," she said coolly, searching within a pile of junk for something. 

Pausing to swallow once more, Sekhmet went on, "Anis. I never had a chance to ask you why you treated my snakebite. Ah, remember, three years ago, when-" 

She broke in once more, finishing, "When you killed Viraz. Yes, I remember." 

"You know?" he squeaked, unable to help it. The amber-eyed woman straightened and gave him a frosty glance, her long, clingy robes spilling like liquid as she crossed her arms. Realizing, he struck his forehead with his palm, hastily apologizing, "Oh, right, of course sorry." _Don't anger the seer!_ Sekhmet berated himself; it was an unwritten law in the clan, really. He felt his face flush, not used to being this on edge. "I was wondering, ah, why you did that." 

"I was indebted to you for killing Viraz," she answered calmly, dragging a large wooden chest out from behind a standing screen, "especially for doing it so that you could not be blamed outright. No one will ever avenge him upon you, Sekhmet," she told him, catching his eyes and holding his astounded gaze firm upon her face. "It would have been a shame for you to have died from a bite after that." 

_But I wouldn't have, if Essah would have come,_ he thought, nearly saying it before realizing he probably shouldn't mention his father to anyone, even someone as out of the ordinary as Anis was. "Well, I had to do it somehow," he said finally, fidgeting slightly, "even just stabbing him in front of everyone if the snake hadn't worked. But I don't understand, what makes you indebted?" 

He trailed off as she knelt to open the chest, watching curiously as she removed a large, lumpy bundle wrapped in paper. She shut the lid and set the package on its top, almost ceremoniously untying the twine that held the wrappings closed. As her long-fingered hands pulled the paper back, he saw a suit of black lacquered armor, its pieces threaded together with yellow cords, a plain uncrested helmet resting atop it. "Your mother's first husband was my brother. Yamanouchi Ayaken. In the clan's eyes, you are his son." 

Sekhmet frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard that name, but then his eyes widened in realization. "Oh - oh! He was the one they had killed-" He cut himself off, but the woman merely nodded, not asking where he'd learned that information. 

"Yes. They blamed him for your blood, called him a demon in disguise to protect _her_ honor," Anis sneered. "But I know that it was Viraz's idea." He didn't have to ask how. "Now that you have become a warrior, I have decided to give my brother's armor to you." Her thin face relaxed into a sort of ironic smile. "After all, they believe you to be his son, so this birthright is yours." 

She tipped it up to show him. It wasn't fine enough to be samurai armor, and its style rather outdated, but considering the general status of their outcast clan he could hardly have found anything better. "Th-thank you, Anis," he replied after looking it over, bowing awkwardly. "I sure can use it, now." 

Anis inclined her head. "I don't wonder if they intended to send you unprotected into your first battle," she mused. "They mustn't think they can play with destinies." 

_Datai's not like that,_ he thought. _I may be wrong about a lot of things I think I know, but not that one. _Even so, he couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. "It's probably the nicest armor I'll ever have," he told her, hoping it came out as the compliment he meant it as, unused to the protocol involved in receiving a gift. 

The seer's eyes had a faraway look in them as she almost absently folded the sheets of rice paper back over the armor, retying the twine. "No," she said softly, confusing him, "no, it's not." She came back to the present, one corner of her mouth curving upward as she stood to place the bundle into the boy's arms. "But it will do, for now." 

* * * * * 

The older warriors had recognized his new armor, he knew, seeing the strange glances he'd gotten when he'd shown up to practice wearing it. However, no one dared to speak to him about it; he wasn't sure if he liked that or not. Either way, Datai had been pleased to see he'd found armor and had been teaching him the correct way to use it, how to time his movements to absorb blows with the armguards or shoulder protectors rather than his flesh. 

It was a very strange feeling - he knew that Datai, at least, had decided to accept him without question. He kept looking for hidden meanings in his comments, waiting for sudden snide remarks, and kept finding none. The rest of the clan, however, his mother included, had been aghast at hearing the news that he was one of their protectors. Once he'd gotten over the painful, disappointed feeling those negative reactions had provoked in him, he'd started to find them funny and smiled even now at the memory of them. 

He wasn't wearing his armor now, however, but like the others merely his normal clothing. As usual, he sat separate from the rest of the warriors; they had all gathered together in the town meeting hall this night, talking quietly amongst themselves. A current of excitement ran through the conversations in the room, however - one of the daimyo's generals had stopped to give them orders for battle, and Datai had quickly called the meeting before hurrying to speak with him. 

Finally, the door slid open, Datai's muscular form slipping through before he closed it behind him. His young face was flushed with excitement as he moved to the front of the hall, the others slowly falling quiet as though silence had touched them in a wave. "We are to attack the clan just across the border," he announced, immediately getting down to business. "I foresee no trouble. It's time to make our plans, men." 

_Hmf, _Sekhmet thought as his leader began to outline their tactics, _an unimportant target. They're just as small as we are, just as irrelevant to the overall war._ But, really, what else could he expect? As much as he wanted to take part in a huge and glorious battle, any army worth their salt would completely overrun his clan's admittedly sad contingent. He had to be satisfied with this - at least for now. 

"Perhaps," the blonde man said slowly, a calculating expression on his face, "we can scare them a little. Unnerve them, that sort of thing - especially if we can't wipe them out completely this time. Sekhmet's one of us now. I see no reason why he can't do that." 

The young warrior flinched back in surprise, broken from his thoughts by the sound of his name and the subsequent turning of all the warriors' eyes back toward him in his corner. _I should have seen something like this coming. _But, was he annoyed or actually pleased by this? It would certainly distinguish him in the ranks, besides what already did. 

"Threaten them with your powers," Datai continued now that he truly had the half-breed's attention, gesturing widely. "Can you really, well, curse them?" 

Sekhmet slowly shook his head. "I have no powers like that," he lied, unsure why he'd done it but not wanting to point out any more of his oddities. "Because of my human blood." He felt some strange satisfaction as the others gave him odd looks, but seeing his leader's disappointed expression he went on slowly, "But I can make them think I do, anyway. I can do something." 

Datai smiled brightly, almost as if in pride at his student, his new warrior, now confident that they'd send the enemy running straight into the arms of nothingness. Sekhmet felt excitement well up inside him, though he was still unsure what to feel about being used in this way, hoping he wouldn't turn out to be merely Datai's pet demon warrior. Yet his first battle would be soon, very soon - and things could only go forward from there. 

* * * * * 

The day was dark, gloomy, and somehow very suitable for a day when men die. The warriors passed down the main road to the town gates, spare armor polished, weapons shining, and the rest of the people watched them leave, lined up along the road, shouting well-wishes, waving goodbye to the father, son, or husband they might never see again. Later the townspeople would drive out carts to collect the dead and wounded, but for now there was only optimism and celebration at the departure of the warriors. Occasionally a girl broke from her mother to rush up and give some token to her beloved, an action that was always greeted with a laughing roar of approval. 

Sekhmet marched near the head of the warriors, near Datai, ignoring the comments, the whispers, and the suddenly averted eyes as he went past. He was too excited to let them bother him today, the day when he would prove himself in his first battle and make them see what they'd been too _blind_ to see before. 

He glanced at the people lining the road and saw his mother standing among them, her face emotionless, holding Jynavy in her arms, the two servants nearby ignoring both him and his mother as the warriors passed. Sekhmet met Rielvia's eyes, playing his game, staring at her until she looked away under the pretense of setting the girl on the ground. 

_She still blames me, _he said to himself. _Viraz died three years ago, and she still can't forget about it. Mother has no proof, nothing but her own feelings, and at least she can't accuse me based on that. And, besides, I really doubt that many of the townspeople miss Viraz. Why _she_ does I'll never know._

The child waved at him as they went by, still too young to understand that she was supposed to be afraid. Indeed, Jynavy treated him like he was anyone else; he often woke up to find her there, crying to him after being scared by some night noise. "Brother!" she called out, waving harder as he only half-smiled, but made no other recognition that he saw her. "Where you going? Brother!" She pulled from Rielvia's hand and ran toward him, small toddler's form nearly lost among the legs of the others as Natani made a grab for her and missed. 

He bit his lip in unaccustomed worry, sure that most of the column of warriors wouldn't even _see_ her before she ran right under their feet. Starting to move to shoo her out of the way, Sekhmet suddenly saw a girl rush forward and sweep Jynavy up. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he started to turn to continue the march when out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl still coming toward him, still holding the orange-haired child. _What?_ he thought, frowning. 

The sudden hushed noise of astonishment fell onto them like a blanket as the girl ran straight up to him; even Datai had unconsciously slowed his pace to stare disbelievingly. The rest of the townspeople had recognized the tomboy before Sekhmet had, and were delightedly straining to see what kind of scandal she was about to cause next. 

"Brother," Jynavy sniffled, reaching out her hand to him, "why you go?" 

Knowing she had to hurry, the brown-haired girl brushed the baby's fist aside, soothing, "He goes to fight, little sister." She reached behind her head and tore away the white ribbon that held back her ponytail, awkwardly reaching to loop it one-handed around his wrist. "A token, young warrior," she murmured in a rush before bowing jerkily and running back to the throng of excitedly gossiping people, even as Rielvia and her own father were coming out to get her. 

"That - girl!" he heard Datai murmur in wonder before he shook his head and shouted for the column to continue moving. 

Sekhmet collected his wits and quickly wiped the stunned expression off his face as he followed his leader. He remembered her now - Lyonta, the infamous clan tomboy; the girl he'd almost had to fight the day Viraz died. _She was using me to shock the rest of them,_ he thought darkly. _She probably was just upholding her fearless reputation in front of the entire town._

Even so, he unobtrusively removed his wristguard, winding the snow-colored ribbon tighter and tying the ends into a knot, pulled tight with the help of his teeth. As they passed out of the valley, the trees of the two forests dwindling away into grassy flatlands, it was quickly hidden away underneath the armor, and the young green-haired man continued on, pushing all thoughts of tokens from his head as the path to the battlefield came into sight. 

After a little traveling, they reached the grassy space on the border of their lord's land. The enemy warriors appeared along a rise, almost one by one as if being conjured there. There was silence as they stared across the field at each other, and then Datai, with a glance around at his troops, raised his katana and shouted "Charge!" There were answering shouts from the other side as the other warriors responded by racing toward them down the rise, screaming and brandishing their weapons. 

The fighting began with an almost audible smash, like a wave crashing against the shore, the men rushing at each other and doing their best to hack down those who engaged them before being caught by another who had finished off his first opponent. 

Suddenly surrounded by a sea of armor-wearing warriors, Sekhmet easily, almost automatically beat the few warriors who rushed at him, parry, thrust, slash, defend, one after another, one of his opponents a boy even younger than himself. Even as he cut them down, he hardly felt the excited rush that some of the others were expressing as their blades ended the lives of another, and then another, before theirs was taken as well in an onslaught of darkness and blood. After all, hadn't he killed his first man when he was twelve? Perhaps not in battle like this, but, though they all took different faces into the darkness, death was still death. 

He couldn't help but wonder if he ought to be more excited, if he should be screaming war cries, rushing for anyone in his path, sword whipping like a wild thing. _Maybe it's been trained out of me, _he thought, spattering blood violently as he jabbed the point of his katana into the joint between a man's chestplate and shoulderguard. Or maybe it was the fact that couldn't see anything wonderful about a group of warriors who were also farmers, chopping at each other like they'd chop at plants in a field, harvesting flesh and blood. 

He wanted more than this - opponents that he had to struggle against, not children that just gave him nicks on his cheek or forehead. Real honor, perhaps, not this. And they were actually losing! 

The half-breed searched around with his eyes, batting away the spear of another boy, and found Datai not far from him, parrying the naginata of a blood-soaked man. "Do it now, Sekhmet!" he called once he'd noticed, and Sekhmet gave him a short salute in affirmation. 

He slowly backed up onto the rise of the hill, letting his opponent advance on him, and then wrenched off his helmet to let them see the odd color of his hair blowing in the angry breeze that rushed, unnoticed by the combatants, through the battlefield. His opponent, whom he could see quite clearly now, was really _very_ young. 

The child stared, frozen in shock and fear at realizing just who - or what - he'd been trying to defeat, and Sekhmet killed him with one blow, almost regretfully slicing deep into the boy's neck and wrenching the long katana out in a spray of fluid. 

He forced a yell of exultation and raised his word in the air, concentrating for a second. The blade began to glow green the same as it had when he'd first found it, and he swept it down to point at one of the enemy warriors, who immediately blanched and, forgetting himself, began to run. _That's right,_ he thought fiercely, even more toward his own clan than the enemy, _now I have an excuse to kill you! Now you can be afraid for a reason!_

Sekhmet made the sword glow even brighter, an aura spreading out from above him like a beacon against the overcast sky, and more and more men began to run, sure he was casting a curse or summoning something even more terrible. Even the faces of his comrades showed their fear, and only minutes later they'd finished off or chased away all the rest of their enemies. 

A ragged cheer arose from the troops, and Sekhmet lowered his sword with an tired, satisfied sigh, the light fading back and the blade only cold metal once more. Datai ran up to him and simply bowed, always formal, before saluting him with his sword. Sekhmet managed to return the salute before falling onto his knees. He realized with mild detachment that he was shaking, though from what he wasn't sure. 

"Are you wounded?" his leader asked, beyond a scratch on his own face looking whole himself. The battle had probably been as easy for him as it had been for Sekhmet. 

Not a wound, no - relief? He shook his head mutely, and, not questioning it, Datai helped him to his feet and supported him as they went back down the hill to join the rest of the warriors, most of whom had survived the fight. 

Below, some of the townspeople had arrived with carts and horses and were loading the wounded onto them; they'd probably been watching the battle from a safe distance to arrive on time like this. Even a handful of women were there, bandaging the wounds of their loved ones or looking for the one body they didn't want to find. Because they were the victors, the other clan's people would have to wait to find their own wounded, increasing the chance that more would die waiting for help to arrive - but that was merely one price they had to pay for a loss. 

A couple of older people made their way up to Datai, and Sekhmet regarded them through blurry vision. "What are you doing?" the man asked Datai with confusion. "Datai, I know you mean well, but you are entirely too trusting of the demon!" 

With an apologetic glance at him, the leader stubbornly continued to help Sekhmet up into a cart. He settled back against the side, exhausted now that he had a chance to notice it, and watched without speaking, too used to that kind of reaction to care much about it anymore. 

"Father," Datai responded to the man, announcing it really to the whole crowd assembled there, "if it weren't for Sekhmet we would have lost this battle. I believe in giving credit where it is earned - even if a 'demon' has earned it." He shook his head, running a hand through blood-matted blonde hair. "He secured the victory, and should be honored above all others." 

They all were skeptical, but Datai was well-respected by the clan, and gradually they began to go back to helping the wounded, muttering quietly to themselves about the innocence of youth but not protesting the statement. Datai took a seat in the same cart, which now full was driven off back toward town. 

"I would rather you didn't do this," Sekhmet said to him softly, finally mustering the will to bring it up. "I don't want this kind of honor." He was grateful to the man for standing up for him, but something within him didn't want this sort of recognition, almost didn't want any recognition at all. He'd spent so long trying to remain unnoticed that it jarred his senses to try and _welcome_ notice. 

Datai looked at him strangely, uncomprehending. "I don't understand. How can you not?" 

He sighed, unable or maybe just unwilling to explain it. "Please, just don't. I'm grateful to you, don't think I'm not, but-" 

"As you wish." 

With a shrug his leader fell silent, and Sekhmet could only shake his head, staring between the cart's slats at the ground passing slowly by. His hand crept to the ribbon that still remained tied beneath his armor, and he wondered if he'd made the right decision. 

* * * * * 

Almost three relatively peaceful years passed, the war moving to other provinces before wending its way back toward their clan. There were only a few battles during this time, and in each one Sekhmet helped send the enemy running, securing very easy victories for their town's warriors. But the problem was that they weren't winning their piece of the war - they had not conquered that other small town just across the border. 

"They're planning an ambush attack, that's what I found," the ninja said quietly from behind his mask of black cloth, leaning against a hitching post outside the great hall almost casually. It had been quite a while since they'd fought the other clan, and they'd hired the ninja to find out what their enemy was up to. He was still a novice, really, but the best they could get. Anyone better would have been at the capital, working for the lord - or any of the other capitals, as ninja rarely had loyalties to any one province. 

The warriors glanced around at each other, their faces wearing masks of confidence to hide their dismay. "Why, after all this time?" Datai put a voice to the question in many of their minds. Sekhmet shifted uncomfortably, guessing at the answer - and he was right. 

"They want to get rid of the demon," he replied, raking blue eyes toward the half-breed standing as usual a distance away from the others. "They do not like being scared away. Can you blame them? It must take all the honor out of a fight." 

Sekhmet sneered at the ninja, taking in his features almost completely masked by the dark cloth he wore. The only distinguishing thing he could make out was a long scar running across the man's left eye, disappearing under the facemask. "And ninja always face their opponents directly, with honor," he returned under his breath, all too aware of the warriors' angry glances being pointed in his direction, his face burning. _When it suits them to think so, I am very useful, but when it causes them worry then I am a curse!_

Breaking his own gaze from the ninja's contemplative, strangely fearless one, he looked down at the ground and continued to do so for the rest of the meeting, leaving as soon as possible when it was over. He didn't owe them anything! No, it was they who should be grateful to him, indebted- 

As he walked through the streets, vaguely intending on heading for the forest, he was aware of footsteps behind him and stopped, turning around. Datai was a short distance away, trying to catch up with him. "Sekhmet," he said quickly, holding out his arm when he turned as if to go on again, "you left so soon. I had some things to discuss with you-" 

He cut the other warrior off, colorless eyes flashing angrily. "No, I won't do it again. I won't single myself out. I heard them talking amongst themselves - they're accusing me of bringing on this attack, endangering their families. I won't risk my life for them!" 

Datai looked at him sympathetically, finally giving him a slow nod. "Still, you must fight in the front ranks," he protested. "You deserve that honor for what you've done in the past, even if you won't keep doing it." 

Sekhmet snorted disdainfully, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You and your honor," he mumbled, still feeling rather pleased at receiving the recognition he'd been wanting earlier, even if it was only from the one man who had always accepted him. 

Datai sighed in mock-irritation, used to the other warrior's moods by now. "All right, fight near the middle. But don't come complaining to me when there's no one left for you to fight!" he said with a wide grin, giving him an overdramatic bow. 

"Don't worry, I won't." He rolled his eyes, and Datai smiled with a tolerant shake of his head before retracing his steps back to town. 

* * * * * 

It was rather different, fighting totally surrounded by his allies, but he didn't have to worry about not having any opponents. The men pierced through their ranks like a spearpoint, shouting and yelling as usual to unnerve the other fighters. 

Sekhmet fought as routinely as ever for a while, for a moment readying himself to intimidate the enemy before remembering that he wasn't going to do that this time. He hoped to escape especial notice until one of the opposing warriors spotted him, pointing him out to the others, and he was descended upon by at least five fighters at once. 

He fought furiously to lessen the amount of men facing him, his sword finding its mark many times, but still more came at him, and he was in danger of being overwhelmed. It was almost as if the whole army was charging at him alone. Datai, not very far away, saw him and rushed to help, but he too was ganged up upon as he neared, and soon he was wounded and had to fall back. 

Twisting wildly to avoid attacks and land his own, Sekhmet dodged and parried almost frantically to save himself until one of his many opponents managed to slice up under his armor, cutting deeply into his left shoulder. Sekhmet's arm immediately exploded in pain, and then went numb, and somehow he could hardly move it, losing his grip with that hand on the hilt of his katana. 

The sudden shock made him angry - it was the worst wound he'd ever received - and he almost lost his senses. He rushed at his attackers, his sword held one-handed and bursting into a bright glow before running through a man with a shower of sparks. His blood was slowly, determinedly staining the cloth of the robe under his armor, a bright red splotch against the pale fabric. He gestured at it as he advanced on the next-nearest warrior, shouting without really being aware of what he was saying. 

"Do you want to die, fools? My blood is poison, I'll poison you; you'll die a slow and painful death! I'll curse you, fools! You will die, now!" In his fury he slaughtered many of them, uncaring of whom he cut to shreds, almost berserking in his pain and rage, and they ran again, all of them, the warriors of his clan, the enemy, everyone, until it had finished but nobody had won. 

And then the madness left him with only the pain throbbing in his useless arm, and he collapsed to the ground, knowing only that the battle had ended, that the pain had not. Lying there motionlessly, Sekhmet was barely aware of it when the townspeople rushed onto the field with their carts, when the unconscious, pale Datai was loaded onto one. _Not the dead-cart, _was all he could think, one eye open as he watched them bandage his friend and take him away. _Good, still alive_

He didn't know what they were going to do with him after this, after what he'd done, almost was too tired to really care. But when they all passed him by, whispering among themselves and glancing down at him sprawled among the stiff, swaying grasses, he realized that they were simply going to leave him there to bleed to death on the plain. And then they were gone, returning to their homes in the nearby town. 

As the rumble of cartwheels faded over the hill, he gritted his teeth and slowly tried to pull himself to his hands and knees. When he placed his unresponsive left hand down on the ground, though, fiery pain stabbed into his shoulder wound; vertigo overtook him and his arms shook, making him fall back down with an involuntary cry. With itchy grass flattened under his cheek and helmet, Sekhmet closed his eyes and waited for his balance to come back to him, listening to the cry of the carrion birds overhead and feeling the intense heat of the sun unblocked by any clouds. 

After a while - how long, he couldn't tell - there was the soft noise of rustling cloth, and he reluctantly opened his eyes to see what it was. However, there was nothing but the sky and the waving bits of unbroken grass in his line of vision. Suddenly a shadow fell across his face, blessedly blotting out the sun, and he summoned the energy to turn his head and look upward. 

A woman stood there, silhouetted against the light, wisps of brown hair escaping from the almost warrior-like knot on top of her head. She looked down at him, and he remembered her instantly. He stared back at her, wondering why even _she_ was still there, standing in the middle of death after all the others had gone. "What are you doing? There's no one here for you to impress with your bravery," he rasped out, frowning up at her in remembrance of the ribbon she'd given him before his first battle all those years ago. 

"You have me wrong, sir," she said slowly. "I - this isn't right. Why did they leave you here with the dead? Didn't they know you were still alive?" 

With a slow, agonizing movement Sekhmet dragged his helmet off, sending it skittering to the side, his identity the only explanation he could give her since she didn't seem to have recognized him by his voice. She met his eyes calmly, without surprise although anger flashed in her leaf-green irises. "They knew," he muttered bitterly. 

After a moment's silence, she shook her head. "It isn't right," Lyonta repeated, kneeling down and ducking under his good arm. She tried to help him stand, but for all her unwomanly strength she couldn't manage to lever him off the ground all on her own. He gave her all the assistance he could, although his head was spinning, and not just from the wound in his shoulder. 

"Where are we going?" he murmured, trying to keep as much weight off her as possible. He had already managed to smear blood across the fabric of her robe somehow, though she didn't appear to mind it. 

They moved very slowly, and Lyonta seemed a bit strained by the weight of him and his armor, though she didn't complain. "Back to town," she grunted, the grass rustling around them as they passed onto a cart track, moving a little easier along that path. "If the healer won't help you then - then I'll get Anis to do it. She doesn't seem to be afraid of you." 

_For some reason, _Sekhmet thought, stumbling as his foot caught on a stone. She reached to steady him, her hand jerking back as he flinched in pain, cold sweat dotting his forehead. He fell onto one knee, clutching onto her arm tightly - too tight, he was going to hurt her now, just what he deserved after all- 

"Oh - I'm sorry, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, her voice more a blur to his ears by now. "I don't know one thing about healing, maybe I should have wrapped that up a bit - you're looking really pale-" 

"I'm fine," he gritted out, lurching back up to his feet as the wave of hurt passed through him and was gone. "Look, thank you for helping me but you should leave me and go back before you find trouble." 

She shook her head stubbornly and continued supporting him onward, half the time nearly dragging him. "No, we aren't too far now. You think I'm afraid of trouble?" Lyonta nearly snapped. 

Sekhmet chuckled softly, making her give him a sharp, almost suspicious glance. "No you aren't afraid of anything," he laughed weakly. "I remember." 

A smile curved her lips as she turned her face to look forward, pulling him out of the grass and onto the packed dirt of the road that led to town. "Look, the gate's still open," she pointed out, implying that abandoning him maybe was a mistake after all. 

He rather envied her willingness to think the best of the clan, but even so, she hadn't been there; she hadn't seen what had happened. _It doesn't mean anything; they're probably just looking for _you_,_ he thought at her, too tired now to give any energy to saying the words aloud. When he remained silent she looked at him worriedly, gazing at him for a moment; whatever she saw made her try to hasten their pace up the road and toward the gates of the walled town. 

As they neared, however, a rather nervous-looking guard ran forward, bare feet pounding the dirt, attempting to bar their entrance with the shaft of his naginata. "I'm sorry, Lady Nobutoshi, but, uh, you can't enter," he stammered, keeping his eyes on her and avoiding looking at the half-breed she was holding upright. 

"What?" Lyonta said furiously, green eyes flashing. The guard took a step back; he obviously knew her, or at least the legend she did her best to maintain. "Jin, you idiot, you think _you_ could stop me from entering town if I wanted to come in?" 

He shook his head furiously, splotches of red appearing on his cheeks as he suppressed anger and humiliation; after all, she _was_ only a woman. A dangerous one, but still a woman. "Well, I mean, not you, lady," he dripped sarcasm, "of _course_, but him." The guard swung his blade to point at the half-conscious man. "He can't enter." 

She glared at him, debating what to do, and Sekhmet wished that he was anywhere but here, bleeding all over her. Especially now, after what he'd said about his blood "How dare you try to keep a wounded soldier from getting help in his own town?" she raged. 

Almost as if in response to her words, the sounds of a commotion were heard from up the road, and Lyonta stiffened slightly, the guard's nervousness relaxing into a cocky grin. "Take that up with Lord Faimbril, lady; his orders, it was." 

Ignoring Jin with an angry toss of her head, she stared past him toward the people coming their way. "My father's coming," the small woman murmured to Sekhmet, adjusting her stance as he put more weight on her, and he nodded slightly, that movement still sending waves of dizziness through him. What worse could they do to him now? He was grateful to her for trying to help, but against all of the clan there was nothing either of them could do. 

A dark-haired man, Herke, Lyonta's father, appeared at the gates, face quivering with anger. "Impudent girl!" he shouted, appearing reluctant to come near them. "Come here, now! I've tolerated your boyish games, Lyonta, but no more! I've warned you about the demon and yet you insist on toying with that evilness!" 

"No, you can't do this!" she shrieked back, sounding very loud in Sekhmet's ears. All he knew was that he wasn't going to be able to stay awake much longer. 

Reddening in anger and the eyes of the onlookers upon him, her father overcame his fear of the green-haired warrior and stalked up to them. "I will not have you prove your bravery at the risk of your soul," Herke announced, seizing her wrist and yanking the brown-haired girl away despite her efforts to pull back. 

His support gone, Sekhmet felt his knees give out and he fell to the ground, landing hard on his wounded shoulder. He cried out without knowing it, and with a frantic look back at him Lyonta struggled to get out of her father's grasp. "No, it's not right!" she cried, Herke resolutely dragging her several steps backward, enough to be inside the town wall. "Maybe I can't fight in the wars, but I still know what honor is-" 

His mouth set in a grim line, her father slapped her across the face. "Do not lecture _me_ on honor. Your warrior-games will end now - _girl_." 

She restrained herself from striking back and bit back a sob, eyes hard and aggrieved; as he pulled on her arm this time she did not resist. However, Lyonta looked back over her shoulder, staring at Sekhmet with an apologetic, almost bitterly _aware_ gaze, and he watched her for as long as he could see her. Several shouted orders rang out, and slowly the gates slammed shut, the bar behind it raised up with a metallic clang. The clan had finally cast him out. 

He closed his eyes to keep that vision in his mind - such a strange woman she was; he couldn't understand her anymore. At first he'd thought she was only using the clan's fear of him to try and prove how brave she was, but something in what had just happened was telling him differently now. 

For a while all thoughts were chased away by threatening blackness, but when the pain receded he opened his eyes again, turning his gaze toward the dark, cool depths of the Dark Sister. He'd be safe there, could get help 

Sekhmet began to drag himself in that direction, using every last possible bit of strength. He barely got ten feet before collapsing in the dust. 

* * * * * 

It was dark when he woke up again, and an even darker figure was leaning over him. "Essah?" he mumbled, hardly able to speak, let alone see straight. "Help please" 

"Sekhmet?" the figure said in a very soft voice, and he instantly recognized it. "Thank the gods you're still alive. Here, let me help you he tied me up so I couldn't sneak out, can you believe that? I got the kitchen girl to untie me, though; she always did like me," she mumbled on, helping him sit up. "After that it took a while before my father fell asleep. I was afraid you would be dead before I could get here." Lyonta pulled a waterbag from her sash and lifted it, wetting his cracked lips. The liquid felt cold and blessedly refreshing. "Have to get you off the road maybe I can get Anis to come" 

"No, the forest," he mumbled once she'd trailed off. "Find Essah he can help." 

Although the name held no meaning for her, she nodded and helped him up again, supported this time with a large branch to use as a kind of crutch. They went slowly in the direction he indicated, quickly getting off the path before night-guards could see them, and entering the dark forest. She bit her lip but didn't protest. She was obviously leery of going in despite her bravery - though he knew she'd never admit that - and seeing the blood on her lip he was even more impressed. 

They paused for Lyonta to light a torch - in the night it was easy to see why this forest was called the Dark Sister, and while he'd never liked being here after dark he was glad he knew his way around here, and no one else really did. _Even if they see the light they won't investigate, _Sekhmet thought, _so we're safe enough. _He wasn't going to force Lyonta to make her way through the trees without the torch. 

Sekhmet silently guided her to the clearing, pain rushing from his shoulder and setting him on fire. However, he was determined to be as strong as this young woman, and at the end of the slow, agonizing trip they pushed through the camouflage bushes that hid the entrance to his clearing, reaching their destination. 

Lyonta eased him down to lean back against a large tree, kneeling near him, and he tried to call out for his father but couldn't manage it. She understood what he was trying to do, and called out, "Hello? Please, we need help! Is anyone here?" She seemed almost more afraid of something appearing than not - he knew she'd heard all the stories about demons and spirits in the woods. Her hand closed on his good wrist and squeezed tightly, as if she was reassuring herself she wasn't alone out here with gods-knew-what. 

Unsure if Essah could hear her or not, he frowned deeply, pleading, _Come on, can you hear? I need help!_

As if the thought had summoned him, suddenly he felt it as the green-haired snake-god appeared in a shimmer of emerald light, the familiar tingle of the energy in his nerves. The torch flickered and died, and she shrank back against him unconsciously, her eyes widening in both fear and interest. "You - you must be Sekhmet's father!" Essah simply regarded her, a look of near-surprise on his scaled face, and she quickly added, "He's hurt, please, can you help him?" 

As if shaking away whatever he'd been taken aback about, he nodded shortly and knelt down next to Sekhmet on his other side, removing pieces of his armor as Lyonta slowly began to do the same. Underneath his wristguard she found the stained, formerly-white ribbon, and he scowled defensively at what she might think that implied. However, saying nothing she gave a half-smile, released his wrist and began working at the bloodstained cords that held the armor pieces together. 

There was a sudden feeling of being comfortable as the restrictive lacquered armor fell away from him, and he closed his eyes, almost knocked out by the relief of it. However, sudden pain shoved him out of that void, and he yelled sharply without meaning to as the shoulder piece came away, breaking open the parts of the slash where they'd begun to heal. 

Lyonta took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Can you move your fingers?" she asked in a low, concerned tone. "That's a horrible wound; I don't know how you've made it this long." 

He tried, and was barely able to do it. _Am I going to lose it?_ he thought, hating the helplessness he felt, being unable to make his hand move despite how hard he was trying to do it. His eyes widened in frustration and a near-horror. Without his arm and being forced to live out of the town now, he would be dead within a month if it even took that long. 

With a reassuring smile, Essah held his hands over Sekhmet's shoulder, and they began to glow. Both of them stared in amazement as the wound began to close, the shine spreading to his shoulder and down his arm. The mark on Essah's face sprang into being, and he felt a slight warmth as his appeared as well, Lyonta's surprise evident as she instinctively backed away, old dead leaves and pine needles rustling around her before she crawled back up again. "Oh," she murmured, "amazing" 

_I didn't know he could heal like that,_ he thought. _How very useful_ Sekhmet's vision began to fade, this time in sleepiness rather than from the pain, and he settled back with a sigh, trying to find a comfortable place on the tree trunk to rest his neck against. 

Essah placed a hand on his head. "Get some rest," he said, the words coming almost reluctantly. "You'll be all right. I'm sorry for not coming sooner." 

He stood and moved away, preparing to teleport back to wherever he'd been, but Lyonta's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed hold of the hem of his robe, stopping him. He angled a look down at her and she ducked her head but did not apologize for the rash move. "Thank you, lord," she said quietly, her nervousness only showing in the quaver of her voice, but he smiled and touched her head as well. 

"Take care of my son," he replied, and then vanished. 

Letting out a breath, she moved back over to where Sekhmet sat, sitting down and settling his head in her lap. He tensed at the motion, the unfamiliar feeling of her thigh under him, but forced himself to relax. "Why would you do this for me?" he asked finally, unable to keep his eyes open anymore. The question had been weighing on him ever since she'd come back for him; she'd done what she could already, and he wouldn't have blamed her for leaving him. 

For a while she was silent, and then she responded, "Because it isn't right that they did this to you. You were a warrior, and not only that but they made you risk your life to draw the enemy and scare them. You saved them, saved _us_ left in town from being conquered, killed or worse, and then they leave you in the dust like so much meat." 

"It was expected," he mumbled half to himself. "I didn't think they would just suddenly accept me" 

She let out an exasperated sigh, raising her hand and then letting it drop. "I thought before today I thought that they knew what they were doing, and I shouldn't pretend to know. I thought that even though they were afraid of you they'd learn. But today I saw what they were really like." Lyonta shrugged. "You can't help what you are any more than I can." 

Her hand fell to rest on his head momentarily before brushing back his sweat-damp hair again and again, the motion feeling unfamiliar and comforting. He sighed, almost in happiness, but then hardened his voice. "Thank you for helping me, but you need to take care of yourself. I don't think things will be easier for you" 

"Shh," she told him harshly, shaking her head as if to deny his words. "I will stay until it's almost dawn; I am _not_ going back in the dark," she murmured close to his ear. "Father will never know I was gone; the girl won't tell him, I know." 

He reached up to blindly grab for her other hand. She squeezed it, and he was glad that feeling was returning to it again. Why was it so comfortable here all of a sudden? He'd never felt more relaxed, _happy_, in his life. "Thank you," Sekhmet replied without anything more to say. 

"Of course," she answered, and he thought he could feel her fingers trail down the side of his face, but he couldn't hear her next words as the darkness of sleep abruptly took him. 


	5. Part Four - Child of Darkness, Child of ...

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Four - Child of Darkness, Child of Light 

The forest was dark, peaceful but not quiet. Even at midday the canopy of branches and leaves overhead blocked out the light, but still life thrived here, despite the stories of the clan. The sound of birds, small rodents that jumped from limb to limb, predators, prey: all these lived here contentedly in the night.   
One other lived in the Dark Sister now, one who hunted those who had been there before, one who lived in a rough shelter in a clearing next to the river. Sekhmet stood on a branch in the top of a tree, leaning back against its trunk, looking out over the forest, stretching far to the east and west. As he glanced to the north he could see smoke from the fires of the clan, and sighed.   
The wind blew fiercely at this height, whipping the ends of his hair into his face. He brushed them away in annoyance and continued to look around. Off to the east he thought he could see the most activity, and decided that there would be where he would hunt that day. Sekhmet climbed out of the tree, swinging down to the ground.   
His clearing was not far away, and when he got there he started a fire, setting it to burn slowly, with little heat. He pulled a kettle out from just inside the doorway of his shelter, a structure that looked as if it would fall over any second. But it was enough for him, and filling the kettle with water from the river he set it to hang over the fire.   
He'd stolen the kettle from someone in the clan who had foolishly left it outdoors, as he had most of the things he couldn't make in the forest. He disliked going back there, sneaking around in the night. _Hopefully I won't have to go back there anymore. Well, that should do it. The water will have boiled by the time I get back._   
He wore his sword, as always, and his knife in his belt. He got a bow and arrows from inside his house, more things he'd taken, and headed eastward, ready for the hunt. As he walked he found that his thoughts kept turning to Lyonta, as they had more and more recently. He kept telling himself that she had gone on and was living her life, and after all this time he should have been able to make himself believe it.   
It wasn't working. He concentrated on looking for signs of animals, anything he could kill and eat. Animals had been scarce lately, and he was getting so tired of fish, especially since there was nothing else to eat with it. _I wonder if I'll be reduced to eating grass like the deer soon, _he mused, trying to walk softly so he wouldn't surprise any potential dinner.   
There was a faint rustling, and slowly he loaded the bow, glancing around. Another noise, soft, and definitely made by something living. The leaves of a bush not far away began to move, and he aimed at it. _It looks large... a deer? _he thought hopefully. A figure appeared above the bush, coming out from inside it, and he let the arrow fly.   
"Hey!" Lyonta cried out, standing there with a look of extreme surprise. The arrow stuck out of the trunk of the tree right behind her, and Sekhmet let the bow drop from his fingers, rushing over to her.   
"Lyonta! What are you doing here? Are you all right?"   
"I'm fine. You really should work on your aim." She glanced wryly at the arrow and then pulled it out, handing it to him. "On second thought, maybe not." She pushed through the bushes to stand next to him, picking up his bow and handing it to him as well. He took it and slung it over his shoulder without really noticing.   
"But, what are you doing here?"   
"Here? The hem of my robe got caught on a stupid bush, and I sat down to get it off, and then I stood up and you tried to shoot me." She grinned, brushing wisps of brown hair back against her head, and they continually fell forward. She didn't really seem to care. "Please don't do that again."   
"No, I mean here in the forest," he clarified, blinking at her.   
"Oh, that. I was trying to find that clearing, you know, where I took you that night. I thought you might be there. This forest really isn't so bad in the daytime at all. But I got lost," she added cheerfully, "and you found me anyway, so it doesn't really matter. What were you doing?" she said curiously, and it took a moment before he could collect enough of his wits to respond.   
"I was hunting," he said. "But I can hardly find anything. Everything hides in this forest."   
"Everything hides in every forest," she said. "So where are you living?"   
"Off to the west. But I really need food, and I think there's something the other way."   
"Oh, food? Here." Lyonta pulled a sack from her sash and tossed it to him. It was heavy and bloodstained. "This'll do for now." He looked inside and saw the carcasses of a small rabbit and three squirrels. Suddenly he noticed the bow on her back, the arrows at her side.   
"You hunt?"   
"Yes," she replied as they began to walk back. "My mother died giving birth to me, and father raised me the best way he knew how. Like a boy. I hunt, and I fight, and the other girls just _hate_ me. But the boys aren't too happy about me either. So I hunt by myself in the light forest, where everyone else hunts. Lots of animals there."   
"Not much here," Sekhmet muttered, swinging the sack back and forth.   
"Does your father visit often?" she asked abruptly, looking up at him. He shrugged.   
"Sometimes. Not recently, though. He's always busy with something." _Busy with the Dynasty, and still he warns me not to join it! I wish he'd tell me what's going on..._   
"He's very intriguing. Can you do anything like that? Healing, I mean."   
"No, not really. He's the one with real powers, not me. I just scare people." He pushed away an overhanging branch, revealing the small path to the clearing. She preceded him down the trail.   
"That's just because they're idiots," Lyonta declared, entering the area. She stopped short, staring around, hands on her hips. "Is this it?" He nodded. "Oh, boy. Do you need help!" She made a clucking sound with her tongue. "This is truly primitive. It would have been primitive five hundred years ago!"   
Sekhmet was about to get defensive when he realized she was just teasing. "Well, I do have running water," he stated, gesturing in the direction of the river.   
"If it was in the house I'd be impressed." She wandered over to his shelter, peering inside.   
"You try building a house in a river." Sekhmet went over to the fire. The kettle was heating up, but the water wasn't very warm yet. He added more sticks to the fire and sat down, taking his knife and opening the sack.   
She sat next to him and pulled out her own knife, holding out her hand. He pulled a squirrel out by the tail and gave it to her. They started skinning the carcasses, and then, for no reason, Lyonta began to chuckle. "So that's where it went."   
"What's so funny?" he said, peeling the fur away.   
"That kettle. It disappeared from outside Rui's house, and she actually blamed me for stealing it!" Lyonta pitched her voice higher, making it screech. "Now, Lyonta, I know you've had your eye on my kettle for some time now, and if you give it back now there won't be any trouble!"   
He burst out laughing, and with an impish smile she returned to her own voice. "Why, no, Rui, I couldn't care less about your stupid old kettle! Actually, I've had my eye on your husband, but everyone knows that dogs are so loyal to their masters. I wouldn't have a chance!" They laughed, and she grabbed another squirrel.   
He stood up and got a skin full of grasses and leaves from inside, along with a scarred wooden spoon. He dumped some of the leaves into the water, as well as a few bones from the squirrels. Lyonta speared chunks of meat on a stick and browned them in the flames before tossing them into the pot.   
"Let's let that cook," she announced. "There's a lot of work to do here! This place is adequate, but you need more than walls to make a house. Let me see what I can do."   
"That's very nice," he said dubiously, "but I don't think there is much you _can_ do."   
"Of course there is. You haven't seen me when I have an important task to do." She turned around and surveyed the surroundings, biting her lip.   
"But I'm going to, right?"   
"Of course. I'm coming back here, you know. This isn't over yet!" She turned to face him, eyes getting wide and sad. "Unless you don't want me to come."   
Sekhmet smiled at her. "Of course I do!" Somehow, he felt at ease around her. She wasn't afraid of him at all, and that was a pleasant change.   
She shoved him lightly. "I knew you'd say that. I don't suppose you have bowls, do you? That stew is starting to smell really good. I don't care if it hasn't all cooked together yet. We can start after we eat."   
"Well, no. I just kind of eat out of the pot."   
"Male," she snorted. "Oh, well, make do with what you've got. And my father thinks I'm out hunting, since I do every day, so I can come here with no problem."   
Sekhmet gave her a puzzled expression, slowly realizing what she was talking about. _She sure does change the subject a lot!_ "Ah. Well, that's a good thing. They'd be mad."   
"Yeah, I know," she chuckled. "But's what's life without risks? Eat, you fool, before I have it all!" 

And so Lyonta invited herself into his life. She came to the forest almost every day, bringing him things for his shelter. And sometime, when, he was wasn't exactly sure, it stopped being just a shelter and became a house. He didn't know if he'd even been this happy, and he looked forward to the times when she'd suddenly appear, always somehow making him laugh.   
A few times, she'd brought Datai, and he wasn't so happy about that. For some reason he seemed to see him as an intruder, but he didn't come often, being busy with the war. And even Essah visited once in a while. And so he was happy, for the first time in his life.   
He didn't want it to end, ever, but a nagging feeling told him that it would. He had that feeling often, but was growing good at ignoring it. And so he did, again and again, until he forgot about it altogether. 

They were on a low hill, looking out at the forest below. The sun beat down warmly on them, brightening an otherwise plain late summer day. The trees were few and sparse here, the hill rather like a bald head. Lyonta sighed and leaned back on her hands. "It really looks different in the daytime. You'd never think that this was the Dark Sister, the forest that supposedly eats little children when they're naughty."   
"Yes, it's not so bad, once you get used to it," he responded.   
She glanced over at him. "That's true about other things, as well," she said softly.   
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, comfortable with teasing her now. In fact, they teased each other all the time. For some reason she always made him feel like laughing.   
She sat up straight, raising her hands in a protesting gesture. "Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all."   
"Yeah, right," Sekhmet said derisively, grinning. She pouted.   
"Do you doubt me? Are you trying to start something?" She wore a mock-serious look, and then suddenly knocked him over onto his back, placing a knee on his chest. "Is this a good day to die?" He could only laugh at her, and she put her hands on her hips. "He laughs! Well, are you going to be sorry..." She grabbed onto his neck threateningly.   
"Gods, Lyonta," he gasped through his laughter, "where did you learn that?"   
She shrugged, fingers still curled loosely around his neck. "When I was little... could beat any boy in town. Never had a chance to see about you, though. Want to try me, huh? Come on, try." She looked haughtily at him. "Bet you can't. You can't! Hah!"   
He chuckled and suddenly flipped over, pinning her down. He pushed out of his mind the thought that they were so close, so close... pushed it safely away where it wouldn't get in the way of their fun. She shrieked.   
"I can too," he said slowly, and she struggled, tightening her grasp on his neck. It was hardly life-threatening, but still uncomfortable, so Sekhmet pried her hands away and held them above her head.   
"No fair!" Lyonta cried. "That's no fair! You're bigger than me!"   
"Say you give up."   
"No, never!" She shrieked again, and then suddenly began to laugh. "No, I don't give up!" She tried to yank her wrists out of his grasp. "Come on!"   
"No, not until you say you give up!" She nudged him in the rib with her knee. "Quit that. Come on, say it!"   
"No! I'd rather die first, you fiend!"   
"Fiend?" He looked down at her, smiling widely. "All right, you've lost it now. You'd better be locked up. No one will trust you with the children anymore. Better give up."   
"They don't trust me with the children as it is!" He poked her in the side and she laughed breathlessly, twisting to get away. "Stop that! Stop it! All right, damn you, I give up!" Lyonta giggled almost insanely. "You've won! Stop rubbing it in my face!" He laughed and let her up. She glared at him. "Oh, you are so mean. I'm not speaking to you anymore." She stuck her tongue out at him and turned away for about three seconds before looking back. "You've got grass in your hair."   
"So do you."   
"Ah, but you see, I can pull it off as high fashion. You, on the other hand, just look like a fool."   
"Fashion!" Sekhmet exclaimed. "You look like you were rolling around in the grass. You _were_ rolling around in the grass."   
"Nobody understands," she sniffed. "See, I'd look just like one of those maidens sleeping in the fields, dreaming of her lover returning from war. You," she raised her eyebrow, looking at him closely, "were sleeping in a haystack."   
"Oh, so you're poetry and I'm a haystack. How does one get to be poetry?" He began picking pieces of grass out of her hair.   
"Ah, but if I told you that I'd have to kill you." She laughed, returning the gesture. "So, what exactly were we doing?"   
"Hunting, I think," he replied, inwardly wondering what exactly had just gone on.   
"Well then, we'd better do that." Lyonta sprang to her feet, snatching up her bow. "I bet I'll make the first kill."   
Sekhmet stood as well. "You will not!"   
"Will too!" 

They walked silently, so as not to disturb their prey. The light was making its way through the thick leaves in places, rays of sun glittering down onto the path. Lyonta stood in one of the patches and held her kill up by its long ears for him to see. "I said I would make the first kill," she announced proudly.   
"It was just luck," he argued, crossing his arms. "I would have gotten it if you hadn't bumped my arm. Hey," he realized, "that's not fair!"   
She put the rabbit in a sack and laughed at him. "That's the way it goes, Sekhmet," she responded, crossing her own arms. "Just face it. I'm better than you."   
"Hah." He felt a strange flicker of something in his mind, but it left quickly, and he forgot about it. "If you didn't cheat, then you wouldn't win all the time!"   
"I do not cheat!" It was his turn to laugh, and she stuck out her lower lip, pouting. "I do not. Say I don't, or I'll cry!"   
"No, you can't pull that on me! I know you too well, Lyonta! It doesn't work-" A sudden crash of pain rushed through his mind, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head. He faintly heard Lyonta call out to him, and then Essah's voice pounded in his ears.   
_I regret the pain, my son, but it was necessary to get your attention. You must beware! Talpa is sending soldiers after you, and I can neither come to help you nor detain them. You must fight them, Sekhmet! They cannot win! _With an abrupt rush of nothingness, the world returned to him, spinning in circles.   
"Sekhmet!" she exclaimed, kneeling next to him, holding his hand. "Please, what's wrong? Are you all right?"   
He pointed off down the trail, searching for the words. "Watch out!" was all he could manage before there was a sudden darkness from the sky above, and a flash of lightning, and then there were immense Dynasty soldiers standing in front of them.   
Lyonta gasped, "What are they?" as she and Sekhmet stood to face them.   
He pulled out his sword, answering, "Dynasty soldiers. We have to fight them!"   
Lyonta nodded. Almost everyone had heard about Talpa and the Dynasty, the stories being passed down over almost five hundred years. She loaded her bow, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion. The arrow bounced harmlessly off the soldier's metal carapace.   
"Oh, shit," she whispered. Their four opponents charged at them, and Sekhmet swept with his sword as the first one drew near, aiming for its legs. It evaded clumsily. Thankfully, he noticed that they were all coming at him and not attacking Lyonta. She had her knife out but it wasn't doing much good.   
Suddenly one of the armored things got the idea to use her as a hostage. It swung at her with its chain just as Sekhmet disposed of another, slashing it through. She dodged away, and when he glanced at her another soldier hit the sword out of his hand with a vicious strike from its spear. He fell to the ground, his breath knocked out of him.   
The blade clattered away to land near Lyonta, and she picked it up swiftly and lunged. The soldier went down, and the remaining one grabbed for her, catching her robe in its fingers. It hoisted her into the air by her shoulders as she struggled. Sekhmet tried to get to his feet, tried to help her, but she was too far away.   
An arc of light raced from the soldier's eyes and hit Lyonta, surrounding her with the glow. She screamed, and his sword dropped from her fingers as her body went limp. Sekhmet cried out to her as the soldier lifted and threw her hard against a huge tree. She fell to the ground and didn't move.   
"You bastard!" he snarled, getting his sword and swinging it with all his might. The soldier laughed and parried with a spear. Furious, he pushed forward and overwhelmed it, destroying the thing with a well-timed blow. The smoke rushed out of the broken body as he shoved the sword back in his belt and ran over to where Lyonta lay, bleeding from a gash on her forehead.   
"No," he said softly, bending over her, feeling her neck for the pulse. She still lived, and even as he watched she took a shallow, shuddering breath. He sighed in relief and carefully gathered her up into his arms, walking slowly back to his house, glancing around for signs of any more soldiers. Sekhmet reached it without incident and went inside, laying her on the bed.   
He washed the wound and bandaged it, ignoring his own, and then sat next to her, bending close. "Please, Lyonta, be all right," he said. "You've helped me so many times. I couldn't stand it if I couldn't help you!" She didn't move, didn't respond, and he jumped to his feet angrily. "Damn it, don't do this to me!" he shouted, wanting to hit something, destroy something in his anger. He settled on pacing around the house.   
It was a while before she began to stir, waking very slowly. She muttered to herself, saying things Sekhmet couldn't make out. Suddenly she sat upright and her eyes flew open, filled with horror, and she began to scream again, loud and unceasing. He rushed to her side and tried to calm her, but to no avail. Finally he just took her in his arms and held her as she thrashed and struggled, and then her screams died down and she ended up sobbing into the front of his robe.   
"No, he's going to take over the world! You have to stop him, please, I saw you there, you have to stop him! You can, you have to! He's going to kill us all!" she wailed.   
"Who?" he asked softly, stroking her hair.   
Lyonta choked back the tears and replied, calming down, "It's Talpa, I saw him, and I saw you, and the whole world was dead and he was laughing... that laugh..." She shuddered and pressed her cheek against him, sighing. "It was horrible, but it was just a dream, you weren't there, and I'm all right now, I'm all right..."   
"No, I won't be there, I won't join Talpa, I promise," he told her, and she pulled away slightly, frowning up at him.   
"Join Talpa?" she inquired, and he began to try and explain, try and tell her everything he knew, and then suddenly, with a smile, she kissed him, stopping all his explanations instantly. She laughed at his look of surprise and stood up. "I have to go," she said softly, glancing out the open doorway and the sun setting. "My father will be waiting for his dinner. I'll come back and see you tomorrow."   
He nodded, slack-jawed, and she laughed again, a little shakily, before leaving him to stare after her in shock. 

Sekhmet sat staring at the berries on the bush, looking for the ripest ones. He picked a few and ate them, piling some of the others on the ground to bring home and save. _It couldn't hurt to have food stored for later, _he thought, eating another. A faint rustling sound came to his ears, but he continued what he was doing, staring at the bush. He couldn't stop the smile spreading across his face, however, as the person came closer.   
"Hello, Lyonta," he said, not turning around. He heard her stamp her foot and make a frustrated noise.   
"How did you know it was me?" she asked as she sat down, flipping her loose hair back off her shoulders. He shrugged and handed her a berry.   
"Who else would it be?" he replied, self-consciously wiping some of the juice off his face. She grinned at him and ate another, staining her lips. He found himself thinking about how nice it would be if he could kiss her, but almost as soon as he became aware of the thought he put it away. She was his friend, but nothing else ever could or would happen between them, and thinking about it wouldn't help anything. What had happened before was nothing. She had been delirious, in shock, she hadn't been in control of herself. She was only his friend. No matter how much he wished it otherwise...   
Sekhmet looked away quickly. "Are you sure no one followed you?" She sighed and nodded. "I would hate to think what would happen if they found out you were coming here," he added. She nodded again, and, strangely, he felt a little awkward. Lyonta was lost in her thoughts, and he yanked a few more berries from the bush before pushing the whole pile onto a piece of old cloth.   
Suddenly he felt her eyes on him and glanced back over at her. She had the oddest look on her face. "What's wrong?" He frowned with concern, and reached out to touch her shoulder. She took his other hand in hers and decided on a smile.   
"I'm all right," Lyonta announced hastily. "It's just that, well, I'm not exactly sure, but, I think I'm falling in love with you." His eyes opened wide, and his hand dropped away from her shoulder. "I mean, well, yes, I am." She gazed at him and grinned, and he had the feeling that maybe he should wipe the stupid look off his face, as well as the berry juice.   
"Lyonta," he managed to say. His throat had gone tight, and he could hardly form the words. "Why?" He suddenly remembered to blink.   
"I don't know," she replied. "Some things just are."   
He suddenly felt like crying, but that would hardly be the right thing to do. _I have to learn to put a better control on my emotions. _Sekhmet reached out and pulled her to him, leaning his face into her hair. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder.   
"I think I knew when I saw you there on the battlefield. I felt connected to you somehow... I couldn't let you die, no matter what the others said about you. And I was right, of course. You're no demon at all. You're just as human as I am, more than most of them are... the damn fools."   
She trailed off, and he closed his eyes. _Perhaps I'm dreaming. That must be it... this can't be really happening. What do I know about love? Maybe she is mistaken. I don't know what to do... _But it wasn't a dream, he knew that as soon as he opened his eyes again. It was real, and he should have been happy, wanted to be happy, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind prevented him from feeling anything but dread.   
"No, no," he said suddenly, pushing her away. "Nothing good can come of this, it's wrong, you'll get hurt, I know it, so go away, please, just _go away..._" He leapt to his feet and backed away. "I'm a curse, and you'll get hurt, so leave, just leave!" Sekhmet hardly knew what he was saying, turning away from the shattered expression that washed across her features.   
"No!" she exclaimed somewhere behind him. "You aren't! Listen to me, that's just their lies, they don't know you! Please, turn around, listen to me! You know it, don't you dare lie to me! I know who you are!" Lyonta tugged briefly on his shoulder, but he didn't move, fighting back the helpless tears, fighting away the weakness. She came around to stand in front of him, staring up into his eyes.   
He slowly reached for the knife in his belt and drew it out. Not taking his eyes off her, he ripped his palm open with one angry slash. Blood welled out in a stream of red, and he lifted it up to show her, ignoring the pain. The blood trickled down his arm, staining his sleeve.   
"This is why I was cast out," he said in a low tone. "My blood is poison, I'm poison, and I'll hurt you if you stay here. I can't love you, I don't know how to, and I'll poison you, too. I already have. Why else would you be here and help me? Why else?" he added almost to himself.   
She shook her head mutely and took the knife from his hand. She slowly placed the edge against her palm, drawing it downward swiftly. He stared in shock, and she winced a little. She took his bleeding hand in hers, and he half-heartedly tried to pull away. "No. If your blood is poison, then it is mine now, and I take it. It's my choice, mine. You can't make me go away, Sekhmet! I'm not leaving."   
"Lyonta," he murmured painfully, "I love you. But for your sake, I can't. I... can't."   
"Love me for your sake," she replied. "For your sake, and for mine. For both of us. Damn it, you know you want to, so do it. Forget them. Forget them all." She stepped closer to him, and he held her, kissing her softly. She leaned against him, their bleeding hands still entwined together. He touched her face, streaking blood everywhere, and neither of them could care less, lost in strange emotions, forgetting everything except the now.   
He could feel the gash on his hand throb pain, and that too was insignificant compared to the other pain, the pain that came with the knowledge that happiness in his life could never last, and that this time as well would be lost. But that thought was easily misplaced as Lyonta gasped against his lips, reaching up to run her hands into his hair.   
"There's grass in your hair," she mumbled. The knife fell to the forest floor. 

Sekhmet stood in the doorway, waiting anxiously for Lyonta's arrival. Summer had passed into autumn, and autumn now was turning to winter, the air chilling. The wind was blowing almost continuously, and dead leaves flew through the air past the bare branches of the trees. That was a good thing about the weather. At least the forest wasn't so bleak. One could get so tired of the darkness sometimes.   
Lyonta showed up at the other end of the clearing and rushed over to him, her cloak whipping around behind her, and hugged him, shivering exaggeratedly. They shared a kiss before retreating inside to the fire, settling next to it, her hand in his. She had a secret smile on her face, and he wondered what had caused it.   
It was strange how it seemed so right when she was here, how the whole place seemed more right. He though of her as his wife, wished she was, but back in 'reality' Herke was trying to arrange a marriage for her, and he knew undoubtedly that he wasn't the one her father would think of.   
"Has he found anyone yet?" Sekhmet asked, frowning. She shook her head with a sigh.   
"Thankfully, no. He's always said that he couldn't pay anyone to marry me. I'm too defiant, too much like a boy for them. I've always been a handful."   
"That you have," he murmured, and she punched him playfully on the arm.   
"Be nice," she responded with a grin. "I have some important news to tell you, and I won't if you're so mean."   
"Tell me," he urged, and that smile crept back across her face.   
"I'm with child," she announced, squeezing his hand. "I'm sure about it now. I'm so excited!"   
He simply stared at her. "What? How?"   
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You know how. You see-"   
"No," he cut her off. "Your father, what is he going to do? He won't let us marry, and if he's anything like Faimbril was about me..." He let the thought trail off, and she glanced away for a moment, biting her lip unconsiously. "We have to decide."   
"You're right. But I was so happy... what should we do?" Lyonta touched her stomach lightly, glancing down, and he held her, trying to reassure her.   
"Are you willing to leave the clan and live in the forest the rest of your life?"   
"Of course," she replied immediately, hugging him. "I can leave in the spring, when it's warm enough to travel. I can hide myself till then. Run away... perhaps they'll write a song about me."   
"A song," Sekhmet echoed, sighing. "I'd sure like to hear that." And he thought about the singer, Cirian. Maybe they could find her, later, show her their child... he _had_ promised he would return to her when Viraz was dead. "Perhaps you'll get your song," he said, smiling for her sake.   
"Of course I will," she said, tossing her head. "How can you doubt it? I'm the kind the person they always write songs about." She grew quiet, looking at him searchingly.   
"I can't believe it," he began with wonder in his voice, and she reached out, guiding his hand to her stomach.   
"Soon you'll be able to feel it kicking," she whispered. "I hope it's a boy."   
"Anything," he replied softly. _And it will be happy, I will make sure it's happy, and never wants at all. _There was no dread here, no worry, nothing but wonder and joy and hope as he sat and looked into Lyonta's eyes and saw the promise there, the promise of freedom from the hate he'd borne all his life.   
"Everything will be all right," she told him, and he nodded, kissing her.   
"I believe you," he answered, and he did. 


	6. Part Five - Requiem

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Five - Requiem 

_There was nothing there. Not the whispersoft breath of the wind on his face, the noises of the forest, not a movement, not a sound was there at all. It was the stillness, the frozen senses of a dead world, a land where everything melted away into a pause as long as eternity. A dead world, and there Sekhmet stood in the middle of it, looking calmly into the faces of the hundreds of people he had killed. For what was a dead world without the dead to populate it? And still, all was silent.   
They watched him respectfully, bowing, groveling. The Lord of the Dead, he stood among them, looking not at the bloated corpses but up at the black sky, sun shining brightly against the darkness. There was something missing, Sekhmet knew, somewhere he belonged. He searched the sky, removing his helmet and letting it fall to the ground noiselessly.   
Another man appeared, and another, and another, dressed in strange armor, beckoning to him. They spoke in his mind, three soundless voices, one message. Join us, be us. This destiny is yours.   
Two of them faded away, leaving only the first, a man who removed his helmet and stared into his eyes, crushing his soul and lifting his spirit. The master awaits. What will you choose? A life of eternal power is yours, if you take it. The other's red hair flew around him as noise returned, sound returned to the realm of the dead, as the wind blew.   
That one disappeared, and then there was another, a huge spectral helmet, white hair flowing in the gale that had now picked up. My son, the huge thing boomed. I am Talpa, your master. Soon you will return to me and claim what is yours.   
He felt the movement underneath his feet, a movement which should have knocked him to the ground. In front of him an immense gate rose, opening, tendrils of mist beckoning him inside. But before he could take a step Lyonta stood between him and the gate. Stop, she said, holding him there with her gaze. It is not time for you, not now, not ever. You are not evil. You have me to guide you. Never forget what you have.   
And then her form shifted, and there he was, staring at himself. Who are you? he asked his double incredulously.   
I am you. And I do not belong here. You are of my future, one that should not be. What I tell you, you already know, but you do not see. There is no need for the Dynasty in your life. One thing you must avoid, if you are to avoid this future. You must-_   
"Wake up! Wake up, please, hurry! Sekhmet, I need you! She needs you!" Datai yelled, shaking him. Sekhmet sat up, still not fully awake, and punched him in the stomach as hard as he could, knocking him to the ground. He stood above the other warrior angrily.   
"Why did you do this? I was going to find out, I was going to _know_!"   
Datai frowned up at him, not understanding. "Lyonta needs your help!" he pressed, and Sekhmet looked back at him in horror.   
"No, what is it? Tell me, quickly!" He hastily began pulling on his clothes.   
He got to his feet. "It's her father, he's in a rage! He found out she's pregnant, but she won't tell him who the father is. He's trying to get her to tell him, and I'm afraid he might hurt her. You have to go help her!"   
Sekhmet felt a wave of dread. _No, no, not now, this can't be happening! _He grabbed a cloak with a hood to hide his identity from the eyes of the others and bolted out the door, Datai close on his heels.   
As they ran through the forest, down overgrown trails, a thousand worries rushed through his mind. He had to hope that this would all work out, _had_ to. They raced towards town, stopping as they approached the wall. Sekhmet pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and they slipped through a hole in the wall.   
There was hardly anyone around as they walked through the streets, only a few people who glanced over at them and went back to what they were doing. Datai led him quickly toward Lyonta's house, and there they discovered that the streets were quiet because the majority of the townspeople were over here, watching the scandal as it unfolded. Datai stopped suddenly, and Sekhmet tried to see past the people to find Lyonta. _Is she all right? Oh, gods, please..._   
Lyonta yelled at her father at the top of her lungs as they fought, causing most of the scandal. Children were not supposed to be disrespectful to their parents, were not supposed to defy them, and yet here she was, even daring to throw random objects at Herke as he tried to advance on her, shouting.   
"You will tell me, now!" he roared, trying to grab her and shake her. Lyonta pulled away and darted backwards, from time to time glancing around at the gawking people. Sekhmet tried to push through the crowd, fortunately receiving only annoyed glances.   
She saw him, recognized him as he got to the front of the mass of people. He didn't know how she knew it was him, but his chest felt tight as she began to back toward him. _No, no, don't, you'll give it away, no!_ he yelled to her in his mind, trying to gesture her away. But she had her back to him, and he suddenly felt very cold.   
Finally Herke lunged for her and she ran to him, gasping. "I couldn't help it, he found out," she said in a low tone, and he put his arm protectively around her waist, pulling out his sword with the other.   
"It'll be all right," he assured meaninglessly, dreading what was going to come next.   
"It's you!" Herke exclaimed. "You're the one! Show your face, now!"   
Slowly, his stomach twisting in knots, Sekhmet pushed the hood away and looked at them all. Lyonta was trembling, he could feel it, and suddenly she seemed very small and vulnerable. Her hand shook underneath his.   
They were all shocked beyond belief, simply staring as he glared at Herke defiantly. Suddenly, Lyonta's father snapped out of it, turning a deep scarlet shade.   
"Oh, gods," he could hear her whimper, "I have to get control of myself. But they know, they all know, oh, gods..." She took a deep breath and turned to face Herke. "Let me go, Father," she urged. "Just let me go, you'll never have to see me again. Just let me go." Datai stepped forward as well, ready to intervene on their behalf. Herke didn't even look at him, keeping his eyes fixed on Lyonta. He began to walk over to them, and Sekhmet gestured with his sword.   
"Stop right there," he commanded, and Herke froze, glaring.   
"Father," she pleaded, and the man seemed to go limp, an expression on his face that caused terror to well up in him. Something was going to happen, he had to protect her, the baby...   
It all seemed to happen at once, in one horrible moment. Herke shouted, "No! I'd rather see you die than see you marry the demon!" He pulled a dagger from his belt and threw it just as Sekhmet realized what he was doing and turned, trying to shield her with his body. He was too slow, too late. Time froze as the dagger left Herke's hand, as he tried to spin around. There was no sound, complete silence-   
-and then time resumed, sound resumed, and Lyonta gave a strangled scream and sank in his arms, fingers slipping in the blood pouring from her chest. His heart twisted in agony and he let her fall, lunging for Herke with a cry of inhuman rage.   
He saw the terror on the man's face as he thrust his sword down, shoving it savagely into his chest and yanking downward until the blade hit bone and stuck. Herke yelled, blood frothing at his mouth, and then hung on the blade, twitching. Sekhmet kicked him off it and then severed his head for good measure.   
The spectators were frozen with shock, but it wouldn't last, and shoving the sword back into his belt he turned to the other crumpled form lying on the ground. _She looks so small,_ he thought painfully as he ducked down and picked her up, cradling her against him as he tore off for their one place of safety, the dark forest. 

"Father!" Sekhmet screamed, reaching the clearing. "Father, please!" He gasped, fatigued from running all this way with Lyonta, and gently laid her on the ground. "Please! Essah! I need you!" He knelt over her, holding her bloody hands between his. She was cold, so cold... "Please!" he wailed.   
He was rewarded with the familiar green glow and the figure of his father, standing in front of him. "What is it? I really cannot be spared right now!"   
He gestured at Lyonta frantically. "Please, she's dying, the child... help her, help her!" His eyes widening in surprise, Essah knelt, immediately glowing.   
"A child," he mumbled, redoubling his efforts, glowing bright enough to blind. Sekhmet looked on, terrified that she was going to die, and the baby with her. His heartbeat sounded in his ears as his father slowly eased the dagger from her chest. Blood spurted from the deep cut like a geyser, and with a frown Essah held his hands closer, eventually placing them directly on the wound.   
Sekhmet stared at her face, the twisted look it held, her eyes vacant and glazed, and he knew that Lyonta was dead. A moan of sheer despair escaped his lips and he hid his face in his bloody hands, bending forward, sobbing. And still Essah kept trying, now murmuring strange words. There was a sudden flash of light and then Essah returned to normal, the glow leaving him.   
Sekhmet didn't look up as Essah came near him, touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can do no more. I must leave." And then he was gone.   
It was a long time before he straightened again, the sobs dying away, tears leaving trails down his face. He picked up her clammy hands and folded them across her chest, straightening her robe, closing her eyes. _Herke hasn't killed just her, he's killed the baby too, and now he's dead, and what am I? I'm dead, too. _He regarded the dagger lying on the ground. _I'm dead._   
But he didn't reach for it, hearing a noise in the distance. People were coming. They were coming to kill him, braving their fears of the forest, coming to execute him for killing Herke. He would wait for them. He composed himself next to Lyonta's body, sitting calmly, waiting.   
They found his trail, found the clearing. The mob rushed in, expecting resistance. Sekhmet stared up at them emotionlessly, not moving, not making a sound. One man raised a wooden club and swung it. It smashed into the side of his head, and there was silence. 

He awoke in a dark, windowless, guarded room. His arms were bound, twisted uncomfortably behind his back, and he had a hard time sitting up. His robe had been taken away, as well as his sword, of course. _Why am I not dead?_ he wondered vaguely, looking around. But the answer to that was clear. They were going to execute him publicly, wring all the pain out of him for their pleasure before tossing him aside like a used toy.   
Sekhmet wasn't going to give them that satisfaction, wasn't going to let them see the loss he felt reflected on his face. The guards in the room stared at him, and then one slipped outside. The men standing there near the door looked afraid, as if he was going to suddenly turn into a monster and eat them all. And then there was a sudden loud noise from outside, the noise made by many impatient people. He kept his features emotionless as the guard re-entered the room with the lord of the town, his grandfather, Faimbril.   
The older man looked at him with an expression of smug superiority. "Prepare for your punishment, murderer," he said with an undignified smirk. Faimbril was obviously enjoying this very much. He waited for some kind of angry reply, but when he received none he gestured to the guards. They came forward, hauling Sekhmet to his feet. They looked nervous but relaxed somewhat when he did not resist at all.   
He was taken outside to face the crowd of people waiting outside on the commons, the grass worn away in the space by hundreds of feet. The whole town was there, gawking at him. Near where he stood a group of priests were chanting to keep him from retaliating, to break his spirit. He pushed down the want to laugh at them. Faimbril followed after and then stood in front of his audience, raising his voice.   
"Hear me, people of our fair town. The time has come for this demon, this murderer, to be punished for his evil crimes these past seventeen years. He shall be whipped until his blood flows freely, until he begs for our forgiveness for the atrocities he has committed. He shall hang three days upon the structure on that hill while we decide his final fate."   
The crowd cheered wildly, and Sekhmet's gaze was directed to the distant hill, where he could vaguely see a dark H-shaped gallows standing silhouetted against the bright blue of the sky. But for some reason he felt nothing looking at it, no dread at seeing the place he would spend his final days.   
He glanced at the people of his clan, all crying out for his blood, and his eyes caught on Datai standing far back in the crowd, horror written all over his face. When he saw Sekhmet looking at him, he turned away. _In shame? _He frowned internally, remembering to keep the mask intact. He most definitely would _not_ beg their forgiveness!   
The guards jerked him over to a large stump, and he was forced to kneel over it, his arms unbound and hastily tied again so that he held the stump in a rough embrace. He braced himself for the blows, head turned to face the crowd and tied down as well. He felt angry, determined not to let himself feel the pain.   
The flogger came out of a nearby house, showing off his whip, to the delight of the people. Sekhmet closed his eyes, allowing himself that one gesture. There was a sudden deafening silence as the man raised his whip, a silence, and then it whistled through the air and landed on his back with a loud crack. He had tried to prepare himself, but this pain was incomparable to anything else he had ever felt.   
He couldn't help flinching but didn't cry out, biting his tongue to prevent it. The crowd went into a frenzy of cheers and shouts as the whip was raised again and snapped down, again and again and again. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, and this pain helped to take his mind off what they were doing to his back.   
He gritted his teeth and tensed up, counting the strokes to distract himself, but he soon lost count. And then the flogger drew blood, and paused a second. _Yes, they think my blood is poison, maybe they'll stop!_ Sekhmet hoped, haze already beginning to blur his vision, but it soon began again, and his blood trickled down his back as the whip cracked against his skin.   
And then it stopped. He opened his eyes tentatively and scanned the faces of the crowd. He saw Datai there, his own fists clenched, and saw faintly the pain on his face. It puzzled him somewhat, why, he couldn't remember at the moment, and then the crowd screamed to the lord, begging for more. His heart froze as Faimbril nodded to the flogger, and it all began again.   
_They want me to beg them to stop, but I won't, I won't let them have that! _He bit his tongue even harder, drawing blood, the familiar metallic taste strangely comforting, the new pain helping to numb the old. His nerves were raw but he hardly felt it, and he kept his eyes open, watching Datai flinch with every stroke.   
And then near him he recognized the face of his mother, holding Jynavy's hand, and she too had an odd expression of distress on her face, as if she could actually feel what he was going through. _She thinks to play the role of the grieving mother. That looks as natural on her as an angel's halo would._ A remnant of the old hatred he had for her welled up in him, and he found the urge to play his game.   
Sekhmet grinned at Rielvia, the blood trickling out the corner of his mouth, staring at her, meeting her eyes until she had to look away. The distress on her face changed back into the usual coldness, and that familiarity also helped him ignore what was happening, helped him return to the time after Viraz's death, when he had been content to be hated, and the others had been content to simply hate him.   
The flogger stopped and another took up where he left off, these strokes biting deeper than the others, harder. His back was torn raw, his head pounding, and it took all he had in him to keep silent. He wanted to cry out so badly... he clenched every muscle to keep it in, denying them that at least. When it became apparent he was going to fall unconscious the other man stopped swinging the whip, and the guards stepped forward, untying his bonds and pulling him agonizingly straight.   
The people were jubilant but disappointed that he did not plead, did not beg. He looked at them and they waited for his weakness, waited, but it never came. Sekhmet began to laugh. He laughed at the priests, because the thought of controlling someone with chants was so absurd, laughed at everyone, for thinking they could break him, simply laughed mockingly as they grew angry.   
And then he stopped slowly, chuckling, and they led him away. He let them drag him, uncaring, through the streets and to the top of the knoll where the old, wooden structure had been erected. It creaked and groaned as they slung two ropes over the horizontal beam, fastening the other ends securely to his wrists.   
He didn't resist or protest as he was hoisted into the air, the men making sure to jostle their weapons into the bleeding cuts on his back. They were astonished when he did not react, staring straight ahead, and he heard the whispered, hated word _demon_ more than once. But they didn't know how much it had cost him, and his vision swam painfully.   
They fastened the ropes to the beam, hanging him with his arms at an angle to put even more pressure on his shoulders and back. Then they stepped back to survey him dangling there, and he met there eyes with his own, each one, forcing them to look away.   
One of the men, one whom he had fought beside, saved from death more than once, picked up a rock. "Murdering demon!" he shouted, hurling the stone at Sekhmet. It struck him on the cheek with an explosive pain, but he managed only to flinch a little. The others followed suit, trying to get a reaction out of him until Faimbril arrived and dismissed them.   
He regarded Sekhmet coldly. "Three days, and your fate shall be decided," he announced before returning on his way back to town._   
Three days is too long,_ he decided immediately. _You waited too long too kill me, _he thought at them all. _Three days and seventeen years too long. Why did you let me live, Mother? What could you have possibly felt for the demon you bore?_   
And so, for a little while, he was left to suffer in silence. But it was not long before the crowd arrived, hordes of gawking people armed with sticks and stones and refuse. He tried to turn them aside with his eyes, but they felt safety in numbers and resisted, shouting insults.   
Eventually, they surrounded him, and the first stone was thrown. Sekhmet concentrated on not feeling, on retaining his impassive mask. He was pelted with everything they could find, but they grew disappointed, as before, they failed to make him display any hint of pain.   
They were beginning to leave when one man hurled a large, sharp rock directly at the welts on his back. The force of the impact sent him swaying on the gallows, and he couldn't stop a pain-filled cry escaping from between his clenched teeth. The rock stuck there a moment and then fell to the ground with a thud.   
His cry brought them back, and there were more rocks and branches, thrown mostly at his back. He sensed the dark haze of unconsciousness approaching again, and gratefully threw himself into it, letting the pain and grief of losing Lyonta and the child overwhelm him only inside, where not one of the hating people could see it and take satisfaction from his agony. 

Sekhmet welcomed the cold night on the hill, welcomed the chill breeze that took some of the pain away from his sun-burned skin. It was the night of the third day. Tomorrow they would execute him, and he welcomed that as well. The days had been strangely hot for late autumn, as if in mockery of him. But tomorrow it would all end.   
Thankfully, he had not been awake much of the time he had hung there. The bruises caused by the stones, along with the aching welts on his back and his terrible thirst, had kept him out most of the time, but now he couldn't rest. His arms and shoulders had been partially paralyzed by the ordeal, the bites of the insects itching, almost driving him insane. He closed his eyes and waited again, waited for dawn.   
The sound of grass rustling came to his ears, and he looked up lethargically. _Who's that? No more rocks... they should all be home now, too dark to throw rocks._ The figure of Datai appeared, reaching the top of the hill. The warrior stood before him, head bowed. Sekhmet stared at him, uncomprehending. "What d'you want?" he rasped, throat prickling with the words.   
Datai pulled a waterbag from his belt and held it to his lips, letting him have a drink for the first time in days. "I have come to apologize," he began. "I am very ashamed of what my people have done. I am ashamed to be one of them. It may not mean much to you now, though, but I am sorry."   
"You're right, it doesn't mean anything at all, Datai. I failed her. This is what I get. Have you come to gawk like the others? Here. Go ahead. When you're done, please leave."   
"I've not come to gawk," he protested. "I have come to help. They've decided to behead you tomorrow. It's wrong. I can't let them do that."   
Sekhmet simply nodded, having resigned himself to his fate. Datai frowned. "Don't you care? They're going to kill you tomorrow!"   
"No," he said simply. "I don't care."   
Datai raised his sword to cut the ropes. "I can't see this happen."   
"Stop!" He lowered the sword slowly. "Don't." Datai's stare was full of pity now.   
"You were right, Sekhmet! They are all petty fools, all using others to gain what they want. You will not be their victim. That's not your destiny." He lifted the sword again.   
"I know my destiny," Sekhmet said softly, eyes raised toward the sky. "And you are right. They will pay." He turned his gaze back to the other man. "I want my sword. Where is it?"   
"Faimbril has it," he replied. "I will get it for you, if you will let me help you."   
He nodded slowly, and Datai went back down the hill. Sekhmet stared at the sky, the sunrise splashing scarlet across the heavens. _I know my destiny. I have you to guide me no longer, Lyonta, and it can not be prevented now. I feel it... something is missing, and it is not you. There is somewhere I should be._   
Datai returned, huffing, with his sword and the clothes he had been wearing when he was captured. He raised Sekhmet's sword and cut the ropes easily, and he fell to the ground painfully. He couldn't get up, couldn't move his arms at all. They hung limply, a strange purple color.   
Datai tried to help him up, trying as hard as he could not to bump against the welts on his back. Sekhmet tried vainly to push him away. Datai finally resorted to slinging him over his shoulder, and they went towards the Sister of Light, the forest nearest to the gallows-hill.   
It was not very far, and when they were a safe distance into the forest Datai put him down on the ground. He sat and looked up at him, blinking away the haze.   
"I thank you," Sekhmet said softly, watching as Datai put his sword and robe next to his useless hand. "One last thing would you do for me - light the gallows on fire. I want to see it burn. Perhaps they'll think I was taken to the demon world. I don't care. Just... please."   
Datai nodded seriously. "Farewell, my friend. Live in peace." With a final bow he left.   
"Not peace," Sekhmet whispered. "I am not meant for peace." He watched the horizon from his place on the ground, watched, and waited. Finally there was a burst of fiery light, and he smiled once in satisfaction before turning away. 


	7. Part Six - Battlezone

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Six - Battlezone 

He was stuck again. How had he expected to carry his things without the use of his arms? He couldn't even get up as it was, and day was coming, faster and faster. He'd tried dragging himself pathetically along the ground, but that hadn't worked too well, and neither had anything else he'd tried. Sekhmet was just about to give it up when he remembered Essah.   
_Father? _he thought experimentally, too tired to put effort into speaking. _I need you again._ He concentrated on projecting his thoughts, and Essah came rapidly, this time. Sekhmet frowned up at him.   
"Yes, I heard you," he began. "You're hurt," Essah stated. Sekhmet, sprawled on the ground, didn't say anything, suddenly feeling exhausted. "You realize I would have come to help you, if I could have."   
He nodded, finally finding the energy to reply. "Sure. Your master needed you. But it's past now. No use dwelling on it. I can't move my arms." He nodded down at them, and Essah knelt next to him, a look of puzzlement on his face as he noted the bruises, the welts.   
"What happened to you?" His voice was full of shock and some other emotion. Essah lifted his arm, holding it between his hands, and began to heal it. It prickled fiercely as the blood returned to it.   
Sekhmet winced and replied caustically, "Well, Father, I only had the humanity beaten right out of me. Nothing much, you know. I'm sure I'll be fine. Why don't you tell your master I'd be glad to come help him any way I can? Perhaps being evil will be fun."   
Essah paused and looked at him in concern. "You don't really mean that. You aren't evil, and it is nothing to joke about. You cannot join the Dynasty!"   
He sighed as Essah began to heal his other arm. "All right. I won't, just stop hounding me!" He paused for a moment. "Her own father killed her, Essah. I tore him apart right in front of them all. I was punished for it, and I should be dead now. You wouldn't even have known... come to town one day and see my head on a spike by the gate!" He laughed weakly as his father shifted to ease some of the pain in his back. The cold wind began to blow, making him shiver.   
"I would have known," he replied mildly, removing one of his own expensive-looking robes and handing it to him. Sekhmet just held it, looking at the sun's position in the sky. "I am sorry about that, about her," Essah continued.   
"Just don't. It's over. I don't need sympathy, I need help. They'll know I'm not there by now. What am I going to do? This is going to happen everywhere I go-"   
"Not everywhere. On the other side of the light-forest, a few miles away, is the fortress of the daimyo and his army. They need fighters. Offer your skill to them, and they will not turn you away." Essah stood up. "I have done what I can. You are not fully healed. I advise resting somewhere safe until you are able to fight well again."   
"Sure." He moved his arm gently, flexing his fingers. "I'd better get out of here before they start searching."   
"Very well. Another word of advice, my son. Your powers will not hinder you there. Work on them as you travel."   
He frowned, slowly, shakily getting to his feet. He pulled his robe on, the fabric irritating the wounds but not badly enough that he couldn't stand it, and then Essah's as well. It blocked the cold somewhat, but it wasn't even winter yet. What would he do then? Sekhmet didn't even want to think about it.   
He was hardly able to hold onto the sword, putting it in his belt. Maddeningly, his hands still shook, but it was much better than before. At least he had a chance.   
"Thanks," he muttered, turning around. Essah was beginning to bother him a little. He thought it might have something to do with those warnings against joining the Dynasty. He was getting _so_ tired of hearing that...   
"Of course," Essah replied from behind him. "Be careful." He vanished again, and Sekhmet shook his head before continuing on. 

_Now what? I know I can't stay in the forest, especially this one. Best not to make a stupid mistake twice... but I'm not healed enough yet, and when it snows even a child will be able to track me. This cave will have to do for now._   
He looked inside it. It was very small, but it would work to sleep in. He frowned. It was going to be incredibly boring. And he needed something, anything, to keep from remembering. He sat just in front of the cave mouth, and his thoughts turned to Essah.   
_What did he say? 'Your powers will not hinder you...' _What powers? Surely he had nothing useful... nothing to keep the army from turning him away, and yet... An idea came, and Sekhmet smiled. It would take time, but that he had. A lot of time. 

It was cold, but the earth kept him warm. He had changed his mind. It wasn't a cave. It was a _hole_. A rather large hole, but a hole nonetheless. But it was warm, and protected, and as the snow fell down outside it didn't really matter that he could hardly turn around.   
He had been working on his magic, like Essah had suggested, working on one thing in particular. Sekhmet hadn't been sure that it would work at first, but he'd surprised himself. He didn't even know what to call it, but he was positive it would help.   
He gazed at a medium-sized stone sitting in the snow outside the hole and concentrated on it, slowly lifting it into the air. He immediately felt a wave of satisfaction as it hovered, seemingly on its own. He stared at it, holding it there until his eyes watered and he had to blink. It was progress.   
Sekhmet was almost ready to leave. Almost. He had healed enough that he could practice without feeling any pain, and was improving so that he could almost lift his sword and hold it in the air for a minute. He was getting rather impatient, but as the wind blew outside he reminded himself that he had all the time in the world. 

Time had passed, and finally he was satisfied with his skill, enough to begin the journey to the fortress-town of Kaze, the lord's capital and military base. He checked his snares a final time, unfortunately finding nothing, and then began to travel.   
He didn't worry too much about covering his tracks, or about the cold. All in all, the winter had been rather mild, and whatever snow fell had usually melted by the next day. And when he stopped to rest, he noted proudly that he could lift three large rocks along with his sword at once.   
"I only hope I'll actually get a chance to use this hard-earned skill," Sekhmet muttered pensively, kicking away a clinging vine that had caught on to his foot. He was nearing the outskirts of Kaze, and was beginning to come across small farms. And then something told him _Essah's coming,_ and the sudden bright glow solidified as usual into the form of his father.   
"Must all your entrances be so dramatic?" he complained half-heartedly. "I'm the only one you have to impress, and after five years it's getting kind of old."   
Essah, who had opened his mouth to say something, closed it and glared at him. "And what has put you in such a fine mood?"   
"Oh, the usual," he yawned. "Do you need something?"   
"No, but you do." Sekhmet noticed abruptly that he was carrying a box. "I do not think they will provide armor for you. This you will need, if you wish to stay alive." Essah proffered the box, and he took it reluctantly.   
"Thanks," he said automatically, peering inside. The armor was well made but not expensive, threaded with yellow cords, the color of the daimyo... what was his name? He couldn't recall it.   
He began putting pieces of the armor on, aided by the snake-god. He hadn't worn armor in a while. "Forgot how uncomfortable this is," he said out loud, balling up his old, blood-stained robe and throwing it far away into the brush. The other one he folded to take with him.   
Essah stood looking at him for a while, and finally Sekhmet bowed to him. "I thank you for this kind gift. You honor me with your sustained presence."   
"There is no need to be sarcastic, Sekhmet. I am bothering you, it is clear. I will not say I understand it, but I will abide by your wishes." He bowed slightly. "Do me honor." He vanished, but with no light this time. He was just simply not there.   
Sekhmet sighed, feeling annoyed as he always did recently after speaking with Essah, and began walking again, slowly, to get the feel of the armor. _What is your problem? _he berated himself. _He helps you, heals you, and you shrug him off as if he was your servant, meant only to do these things! Have a little sense! He's a god, no matter who he serves! He could kill you easily, if he chose. _It was all so confusing. Why wasn't everything just black and white? 

He wandered down the road to the fortress, chewing on a piece of dried meat. The peasants and farmers gave him only cursory glances. To them, he was just another soldier. The walls of the actual city loomed ahead of him, and inside that was the fortress. He rubbed the mud off his feet on a rock and brushed the dirt away from his armor before approaching the gate.   
The guards standing there looked at him, boredom evident on their faces. "State your business," one said, as if he could hardly care less.   
"I wish to join the army," he replied, hoping it was the right thing to say. The two stood straighter and glanced at each other.   
"Excuse us," the taller man said, and they stood a short distance away, conferring. He was able to hear a lot of what they said, although they were taking pains to keep it down. Apparently they thought he might be a spy or something. He muffled a yawn.   
"So, let the general decide," he heard. "Ask him."   
"But what if he's _busy_?" There was horror in the guard's voice as he forgot to keep his voice quiet. He looked embarrassed and then went through the gates.   
It was a short while later when the man returned and addressed Sekhmet. "The general will see you. Follow me."   
He nodded shortly and followed. They passed down crowded streets and up to a walled manor. As they passed through that gate, Sekhmet looked around, trying not to seem too naïve or in awe. But he had never seen so many walls, not to mention people, in his life.   
They entered the house and went into a large, dark room. Candles shone all around, although it was still late afternoon. An older, black-haired man was here, sitting at a table. He looked up as they came in. "Ah, so you're the one who wants to become a soldier in our army." He waved away the guard. "I am General Shoka. And you?"   
"Sekhmet, my lord," he answered, bowing deeply. Shoka frowned and picked up a brush and a piece of paper from the many scattered across the table.   
"Ah, Sekhmet. That is all?" He glanced up again.   
"That is all," he replied cautiously.   
He muttered "Hmm," once, bending over his writing, and then straightened. "Well, then, boy, you must know we don't allow just anyone to join our ranks. We may need fighters, but we are not desperate. So," he began. "Can you fight? Do you have any experience in battle?"   
He nodded and told of the many battles he had fought almost thanklessly for his clan. But the general was still not convinced.   
"Many young men can boast of the same," he replied, narrowing his eyes slightly. "But your voice... how old are you?"   
Sekhmet ducked his head almost involuntarily. _It must be... what, now? I was born in the fall, I think... don't hesitate, he'll think you're lying for some purpose._ "Eighteen, my lord," he answered formally. The man seemed to look at him for the first time.   
"Remove your helmet," he ordered easily, and Sekhmet realized with a shock that he should have done so when he had come in. _  
_ _Bad manners aren't going to get you into the army, fool! _he told himself. He pulled it off, wondering with some amusement what Shoka was going to do. He let the candlelight fall full on his face, on the green hair, hiding the smile. He didn't know why it was so funny. It just was.   
The general blanched a bit but managed to hide any other emotions he may have felt. "A demon?" he asked, almost wistfully, to Sekhmet's surprise.   
"No, my lord," he answered wryly. Suddenly it seemed like he should be. "Merely the son of one."   
Shoka appraised him critically. "Can you do magic?"   
He found himself nodding slowly. "Some," he replied stiffly as the general began to grin.   
"You must demonstrate. We shall have to see about your fighting skill as well." He paused, as if he was waiting for something.   
"Uh, outside, of course," he started, unsure. Shoka nodded.   
"Of course. I shall join you shortly." As Sekhmet bowed and began to leave, he shouted for a messenger. "Send for all the generals currently in town immediately! They shall have to help make this decision." He could hear no more as he was escorted outside. 

They all arrived rather quickly, but even so the wait was making him nervous. The four other generals besides Shoka had gathered to watch his demonstration, as well as a gaggle of off-duty soldiers, and most of them were looking at him as if he was some kind of strange pet. He frowned to himself and waited until Shoka announced they were ready.   
"This warrior here will show his skills in both magic and fighting. If they are sufficient then he will be allowed to join this army." The was some discontented murmuring at this, particularly from the soldiers, but Shoka, being the head general, nodded and gestured for him to get on with it. He did.   
He took a deep breath, slipping easily into a state of concentration, almost a trance, and gestured at a soldier, hardly noticing the expression of fear on the man's face. His sword was yanked out of its sheath, floating over to swirl and spin around Sekhmet's head. He picked up three more weapons the same way and turned toward the five tall practice posts set in the ground. There were murmurs and gasps from the people standing around, as if they were unable to believe what they were seeing.   
He waved at each of the posts in turn and sent a blade flying over to sink deeply into the wood. Then he unsheathed his own sword and focused on it, letting the energy inside flare up and be seen. He directed the energy with his mind, guided it over to the center post, swinging the sword down. The post exploded in a shower of splinters.   
There was a dead silence as the onlookers gaped. Sekhmet ignored them and turned his gaze to Shoka. The general was nodding in approval. "Well," he stated with a broad smile, "you still have to show us your fighting skill. Be sure not to use magic this time." He waved his hand and a soldier ran up. Sekhmet moved into a defensive stance.   
His opponent lunged forward, jabbing for his chest. He dodged and swept to the side, the blade just barely scratching against the man's armor. There were cheers and shouts from the onlookers, and he was surprised when he heard a few people calling to him, urging him on. He fought harder, determined not to lose this chance.   
Suddenly they were at a standstill, blades locked together, and Shoka with another wave gestured the soldier away. His opponent bowed to him and then to the general, and Sekhmet did the same.   
There was a tense moment before Shoka nodded, smiling. "You are worthy of joining our army, Sekhmet. I will take you under my own command." He addressed the officers next to him. "Just think of what we could do with his powers!" The other generals nodded hesitantly, and Shoka commanded someone to drill him on procedures.   
Sekhmet bowed deeply to hide his smile as the general returned to his tent. Eventually the crowd drifted away, and one of his new commanders beckoned for him to follow. He did, feeling tired and a little dazed. _I can't believe it! Essah was right! But... what will happen now?_

The winter had turned to spring, and Sekhmet had proven himself in battle a few times. The other soldiers had generally accepted him, although a few of them teased and insulted him like his clan had, some even going so far as to challenge him. But after a few defeats that, at least, had stopped, although their hate for him hadn't.   
He had been reprimanded for the fighting too, but Shoka was inclined to be somewhat lenient with him, considering the circumstances. It hadn't taken very long to get used to the routines, and Sekhmet found that he liked being a soldier very much.   
It was a fairly warm, breezy day, and Sekhmet stood on guard duty with his sort-of friend Aysanio outside the wall to the daimyo's palace. The lord himself was not in Kaze, instead visiting allies in neighboring lands, but still his residence needed to be guarded. It was boring work, but when no one was around he could at least talk with the other man. And today there was a strange tension, a building sensation in the air.   
Aysanio stood at attention, holding a naginata in a bandaged hand. He was generally a quiet, easy-going person, but in battle became entirely different. He'd gotten that wound stopping an attacker's sword with his hand. The blade had gone through his armor and into his palm, fortunately not damaging it very much. He sighed, glancing around. "There's nothing happening," he complained.   
Sekhmet was about to agree when the noise of many voices was suddenly heard, coming towards them. He straightened up as the group of people, wearing the mon of one of the generals, passed. The two guards exchanged curious glances, and after they had gone Aysanio stopped one of the servants trailing behind.   
"What's going on?" he demanded in a low tone.   
With a quick bow the man blurted, "Fourteen men have been afflicted with a sickness, lord, in the past day. They have fevers and pains, and one of them just died in his sleep while others cry out as if possessed. And now one of the generals is sick as well!" He then glanced down the road and rushed after the rest.   
Aysanio had gone pale, and Sekhmet turned to him. "You know something about this sickness. It isn't just one of the normal afflictions we've all had since joining the army. So what is it?"   
"I don't know what it is called, but I have heard of it before. It's very deadly, and could kill half of our men or more before it is driven away." He made several strange warding gestures. "I shall pray that it passes us by."   
Sekhmet personally didn't think that praying was going to do any good, but he said nothing. He wasn't worried about it, really, since he had never been sick much before. Why would he start now? But he had no more time to think about it, for then there was more shouting and yelling, and from their position up on the hill of the fortress they could see sudden activity in the town below. And then a group of priests went by, one stopping before them.   
"You," he commanded, leveling a finger at Aysanio. "Come with us. We need some strong arms to carry the sick to where we can tend them."   
Unable to refuse, the soldier followed after the priests down the road, leaving Sekhmet to stand there and wonder. 

He was off-duty some days later, wandering around the town and watching the people. They were all nervous, afraid, praying not to be afflicted with the horrible sickness. He walked until he came across Aysanio, leaning against a post near the sick-building. He was pale and drawn, holding his wounded hand near his chest.   
"Aysanio," Sekhmet greeted him, walking over. "When was the last time you got some rest?"   
He shrugged. "A long time, Sekhmet. I've been carrying bodies... so many dead! And more falling sick every day... why are the gods visiting this upon us?" That the plague was being sent upon them by the gods was one of the most popular theories in the camp. Another was that their enemy had powerful sorcerers that were trying to kill their men and then attack. As more men died, more of the remainder were being put on watch for the enemy.   
He frowned, pulling Aysanio's hand away from him and unwrapping the bandage. The wound looked bad, festering. "I don't think it _is_ gods. But I'm not sure what it is... I do know that you should get some rest. And get this wound cleaned up. It's infected, I think."   
Aysanio nodded and moved to push himself upright, but he failed utterly and collapsed. Sekhmet caught him before he could fall and took him the short distance to the priests' building. There some harried men took him away to lay him on a mat.   
The air in the room stank of disease and the people inside were either delirious, thrashing about, or lying there as if they were dead. As he paused to look at them, he was suddenly drafted by an acolyte to carry bodies and the sick.   
He had no choice but to obey, but hated the duty nonetheless. Hated watching men lose control of themselves, blubber and wail and cry. Nothing the priests were doing seemed to help, and only a few recovered on their own. But still Sekhmet carried them to the building all the way from the walls of the inner fortress-town, and carried them out when they had died.   
He checked on Aysanio when he could, when he had a moment, but still he lay unmoving, as if he was dead, mousy-brown hair matted from laying down so long. He could only hope he'd be one of the ones to recover. _Doesn't it fit, that one person I might call my friend would die like this? _he thought as he was sent to collect more of the sick, as others brought bodies out to be buried. And this went on for days.   
  
Sekhmet was resting in the barracks on his mat, concentrating on eating a bowl of rice. The soldier nearby him was poking at a wart on his foot with a knife, wincing and cursing alternately as he tried to cut it off. Sekhmet frowned down into the bowl, not very hungry. "Damn!" the man said again.   
"Why don't you burn it off?" he sighed, setting the bowl aside.   
He looked introspective for a moment. "Haven't tried that!" The soldier stood up and limped away. Sekhmet leaned back, stifling a yawn. He had only a few minutes before the priests would call for him again. Best to make the most of the time he had.   
He closed his eyes for what seemed like only seconds, and then there was someone standing in front of him. It was another common soldier, holding a naginata. "You are the warrior Sekhmet?" he queried.   
_As if there was anyone here who didn't know who I am!_ "Yes," he answered slowly.   
The man held out the weapon. "This is for you. The soldier Aysanio wished you to have it." He stared at it blankly until he finally realized what had happened.   
"He's dead," Sekhmet stated, lurching to his feet and taking the weapon. The soldier nodded. He put it in the corner along with the rest of his things, and ran out.   
He wasn't sure why he was running, or what he expected to find. The man had said Aysanio was dead, so why were his feet taking him to that disgusting sick-house? But he had to see for himself, although his head was spinning and he felt nauseous.   
He skidded to a stop outside the door and walked in. It was true; Aysanio's bed was empty. He felt a brief flash of remorse, and a longer wave of dizziness. Everything faded for a moment, and when it returned another priest was standing before him.   
"Soldier," he said, "I need you to carry a message to General Shoka of the death of General-"   
Sekhmet simply stared at him for a moment before blacking out and landing at the priest's feet. 

In the muggy, hot sick-room, sweating with fever, Sekhmet dreamed. He was burning, burning, and there was no way to escape it, no way at all. He seemed pinned by a heavy weight on his chest, tried to push it off but couldn't, couldn't breathe, couldn't escape the heat... and it was so dark, so silent, and there in the silence, pinned to the ground, he was burning slowly...   
With a violent gasp, he managed to open his eyes, only to see more darkness, hear more silence. He wasn't even sure that he'd opened his eyes or woken up at all. And then shapes suddenly appeared around him, and he began to calm down, shoving away the thick hot blanket.   
Sekhmet's mouth was dry, prickly, and he licked his cracked lips in a futile attempt to moisten them. He was incredibly thirsty, but there was no one around to bring him water, and he would have thrown it up anyway. But he wanted it, even so. There wasn't anything left in his stomach, and the thirst was worse than the heat or the nausea the water would bring. He wasn't sure how he would able to stand it much longer.   
The attending priest was asleep in the corner, hadn't heard him or noticed he was awake. A few men around him were crying out and thrashing, but still the priest slept. Sekhmet didn't have the energy to even frown at him.   
He felt weak, helpless, powerless, and these were feelings he utterly despised. Although he wouldn't dare to admit it to himself, he was scared. The sickness was nothing he could control, manipulate, ignore or even fight against. There was nothing he could do to keep from dying in the disease-filled room like so many others had already. The mere thought made his heart beat painfully fast, made him want to fight again, although it wouldn't do any good at all.   
"Essah!" he called into the quiet room, hardly able to speak above a hoarse whisper. His throat constricted around the words, and he hated the weakness in himself even as he begged, "Help me! Help me, Essah, please, please, please help me!" He waited, and nothing happened. Nothing at all. _I should have known... I've asked too much, I can't do anything for myself and so now I should just die. _Sekhmet closed his eyes, curling up on his side around the pain.   
He only realized Essah had indeed come when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned over slowly and met his eyes, unable to say anything useful beyond another "Help."   
His father looked at him sadly, sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him. "Sekhmet, I am sorry, but I can not help you. What you suffer from I am unable to heal. I cannot heal the unseen, only wounds."   
He raised himself with a great effort onto an elbow. "No, don't tell me that! It's not true! Why are you here then, to torment me? What are you here for? Just leave me alone and let me die! Do you want to watch? Go away and take your lies with you!"   
"You won't die," he answered calmly, shaking his head. "I believe you can conquer this, my son. Do not give up."   
"Give up? Why not, why not just give up? Leave, go away, if I want to give up then I can and - and you can't stop me!" Sekhmet was incoherent, babbling now, filled with fear and rage and pain, and inhaling deeply, turned it all on his father. He shouted unintelligibly, voice rasping and angry, shouted and yelled and screamed, and Essah sat there, simply watching him with large, expressionless golden eyes.   
The snake-god reached out and touched his forehead with a forefinger, and the green glowing lines of his symbol appeared, mirrored by the similar mark on Essah's forehead. After a few seconds Sekhmet subsided into racking, tearless sobs, and his father pushed him back down onto the mat, using his magic to calm him and put him to sleep.   
"I wish I could help you more, Sekhmet," was the last thing he heard Essah say before he blacked out. "But this is one battle you will have to fight completely alone."   
  
The dreams came again, dreams of hands reaching for him, holding him down in the fire, and faces, people danced in the flames, taunting him, beckoning - _her_ face was the worst, twisted and melting, leering at him. He couldn't tear his eyes away, horrified by the sight, but when she reached out for him he wanted to go to her, reaching back, but the hands held him there.  
Sekhmet drew in a breath and screamed her name, thrashing and fighting, and then the hands were suddenly attached to bodies, bodies of soldiers and priests. They were trying to restrain him as he screamed, kicked, tried to escape, pushing away. He fought and fought until they managed to tie him down, falling back with gasps and sighs of relief.   
He writhed in his bonds, trying vainly to free himself as the priests stepped aside to confer. He didn't know what they were saying, couldn't hear, but as he struggled the eldest of them announced to the others that the sickness would have to be bled out of him.   
For some unidentifiable reason, the knife they carried over struck terror in him, and he yelled, cursing them as they slashed his forearm and let the blood drip into a bowl, cursed and then just as suddenly broke down into sobs, having lost all reason to the disease wracking his body. He screamed until his voice went hoarse and then collapsed weakly, all energy completely spent.   
When he awoke he had come back to himself, regained some of his former control. He took in deep breaths and let them out slowly. There was someone stirring in the room, a priest muttering low chants over a body. Another man took the body out of the tent, and the priest accompanied him. Sekhmet lay very still until they were gone.   
He found that he was still restrained, and struggled against the ropes briefly before quitting. He needed some other way to escape, and his gaze swept around the room, fixing on the knife the priest had used to bleed him laying on the floor a couple of feet away. Sekhmet stared at it, tried to concentrate on it, focusing. He was still too weak to do much, but stubbornly worked at it, managing to drag the knife a few inches closer before resting.   
After he had rested he tried again and again, working in this way to drag the blade close enough. When it was right next to him he waited for the right time, when the room was empty, and then summoned all his energy and raised the knife in the air.   
With a great deal of effort he slashed through one and then two of the ropes, nicking himself in the process, and then let the knife clatter to the ground. It was enough, and he pulled the rest of his bonds away, accompanied by a strange suffocating feeling, almost like dread. _I have to get away from here, now! _he thought frantically.   
He staggered to his feet and stumbled out the door. It was quiet outside, near dusk, and he went around the back of the building, toward where he could hear running water. The sick-building was located outside the main walls of the city, on the outskirts of the surrounding town, and so he didn't have to worry much about guards.   
It was so hot, and the river called to him through the returning haze. He moved single-mindedly to it, pausing only to throw up once more into the bushes. Sekhmet reached the bank and collapsed in the cool mud. Lying among the reeds, he took a breath and then shoved his head under the water, holding it in the freezing liquid until he needed air.   
He pushed back among the reeds, out of sight, stretching out next to the dull roar of the river, feeling cool for the first time in days. He was asleep instantly. 

It was dusk. As he opened his eyes, at first he was afraid that the sickness had somehow ruined much of his sight, but when he sat up Sekhmet realized where he was. The reeds surrounding him blocked out most of the faint light still fading in the west.   
_It's still dusk. I must not have been out very long. Feels like a while, though... I should probably get back to town._ He stood slowly and stretched. He felt a lot better than before, just a bit achy. It seemed that the fever was gone, the sickness departed.   
Sekhmet stumbled his way up to the fortress, entering through the gates without any problems. The guards there stared at him, but he assumed they were just wondering how he had gotten better so soon. He went toward the barracks, noticing that there was no one around. It was as if the fortress was dead.   
His things weren't where they were usually kept. He found them among the belongings of other soldiers. _Can't even wait until a person's dead to take his clothes, _he thought angrily, retrieving them and noting who had taken them.   
He glanced out the open door as he picked up his robe, and saw that, to the north, there was the light of many torches. "There's a gathering then... that's why no one's here," Sekhmet muttered, dropping the robe and picking up his armor instead. It was almost too heavy for him to wear yet, but he just clenched his teeth, and, glancing around once more at the deserted town, went north.   
When he arrived at the field, he recognized right away what was going on. This was the funeral ceremony for the general that had died. All the soldiers left alive were assembled in their ranks, and at the head of the crowd sat the remaining generals, Shoka among them, a gaggle of priests, and a well-clothed man Sekhmet didn't recognize.   
The priests were chanting prayers for the general, and also for the souls of the dead soldiers, to help guide them safely on their journey. Still unnoticed, Sekhmet frowned to himself. He remembered vaguely that the general had died the same day he himself had fallen sick, but usually a person wasn't buried until seven days had passed, to allow the soul to depart.   
He walked up to a nearby soldier, being careful not to disturb the service, and asked quietly what the day was. Instead of answering, the man grew pale and backed away. A murmur ran through the group, and eventually the priests stopped their chants and turned to stare at him. The noise died down to deep silence, and there were hundreds and hundreds of eyes on him.   
No one spoke for a long time, and then one of the elder priests, visibly steeling himself, called out, "Why do you haunt us, spirit? Return to the void and be at peace!"   
He blinked at them, frowning in confusion until it all became clear. "Ah... I'm not dead."   
That caused even more confusion in the ranks. Shoka stood and waved for silence. "The body of the half-demon soldier Sekhmet disappeared from the sick-tent five days ago. It was taken to the demon world. And yet," he said, out loud but still to himself, "why does his spirit remain?" He addressed his next question to Sekhmet. "Is there some worldly task you must accomplish before you may rest?"   
"No, my lord Shoka," he protested, "I am not dead. I left the sick-house and was unconscious by the river this whole time. I just woke up." He stopped. They quite obviously did not believe him. _Now what can I do... haunt them? I think not._   
Some expression he let show on his face prompted Shoka to confer briefly with the man next to him, the one with the expensive-looking clothes. Then the head general descended the low dais he had been on and walked over to him.   
He peered at him curiously, walking around him as Sekhmet stood self-consciously. Finally Shoka reached out and tapped him hesitantly. He seemed surprised that his finger didn't go right through him.   
He pitched his voice so that most of the men there could hear him. "This man is real, alive as he says. Everyone return to your places! Continue with the ceremony!"   
There was a slight pause before everyone followed his commands, and as he returned to his place the priests began their prayers again. Sekhmet took his place in the ranks, well aware of the wide berth the others gave him. It seemed that fate was always conspiring against him to keep him an outcast. 

It was only a day later when he was summoned to the fortress keep itself. Perhaps not quite as surprised as he might have been, Sekhmet was granted immediate access and was escorted to a large audience chamber. The whole fortress was decorated in high style, everything arranged just so according to tradition. The chamber itself was decorated with vases of flowers among other things.   
On a slightly raised platform sat the man Sekhmet had seen at the ceremony - the daimyo himself. Next to him sat General Shoka, and both were wearing long, expensive embroidered robes. This was the man all the fighting was for. He quickly bowed, low to the ground, waiting for acknowledgment. _Why, exactly, am I here? _he wondered. _Most likely about yesterday. I just want to forget that..._   
"Sit, Sekhmet," Shoka said shortly. "I present to you my lord Naaza Kaeoda." He bowed to him once more before kneeling at their feet, head lowered respectfully.   
"You are the soldier Sekhmet," Kaeoda stated. He was older than Shoka but still appeared healthy, if a bit on the heavy side. "I have heard much about you. I wish to ask you about your... resurrection, as it seems."   
He explained it again as he knew it, leaving out any mention of his father. But he had to include how he escaped from his bonds, which led Shoka to order him to demonstrate his powers for the daimyo. Stifling a very inappropriate sigh of resignation, Sekhmet lifted and rearranged the various items in the room from where he sat.   
When he looked cautiously up at Kaeoda again, he noted with satisfaction that his lord looked pleased, and Shoka was fairly beaming with pride.   
"I see, Shoka, my friend, that you speak the truth. He, indeed, is an asset to our army." Kaeoda nodded down at him. "I myself shall fight in the next battle against our enemies, which we will be ready to fight a short while from now. I want you to bear my sword in the battle ceremonies that day, and ride behind me in battle. I wish to see for myself how well you fight."   
Sekhmet bowed low again, touching his forehead to the floor. "I am honored, my lord, more than I can say," he replied, hoping it was the right answer. _It is an honor, yes, but why are they doing this to me? Is there more here than I realize?_   
He was escorted back out into the fortress, there left to his duties until the day of the battle came.   
  
He was on guard duty on the wall, near one of the generals' residences inside the fortress. From his station he could see not only for a distance inside the fortress but also for miles around the countryside. He was watching briefly the people in the town below walk around town socializing, and the farmers further away plant their rice.   
And then, with no warning at all, Essah appeared to him. He gaped in shock and then quickly covered it up, mindful of all the people bustling around. "Essah," he muttered, "leave, they'll see you!"   
_No, Sekhmet, they cannot see me. Speak in your mind and you will not attract attention._   
_Why are you here?_ he asked, focusing on something besides the tall form of his father. He scanned the people in one of the gardens a little ways away with his eyes, not really seeing them.   
_I will tell you quickly, for I am in a hurry. I was there when you spoke with Kaeoda, and I have things I must tell you. Beware during your next battle, and guard Kaeoda with your life! Do this and I promise you will be greatly rewarded._   
His mind raced. _Why should I do this? Essah, what is going on?_   
_I cannot explain. Just do it! It is imperative that you do!_   
_Essah! _Sekhmet shouted in his mind. _You have to tell me! What is going to happen? _But the snake-god had left without another word, leaving him considerably angry. 

After the rains of the season had ceased a bit, the day of the battle was at hand. Sekhmet and the others were wakened by the sound of the war-drum, and immediately a feeling of anticipation filled the air, as it did before every battle he'd been in. Everyone ate quickly and prepared for battle even faster, although they were sure not to make a careless mistake that would prove fatal later.   
Sekhmet was not the only one who checked his armor a second time before leaving the barracks and meeting his commander and the rest of the men. The straps were tight and in place - there, there, and _there_. He was finally satisfied and hurried to catch up.   
The troops amassed on the field outside the fortress, the same field where the ceremonies for their fallen comrades had taken place. Sekhmet stood near the very front of all the assembled soldiers, holding Kaeoda's sword, and the before-battle ceremonies began.   
Kaeoda sat with his generals around him in a semicircle, Shoka on his left, and a new general to replace the one that died among them as well. He ate the traditional farewell meal and stood.   
Feeling a bit nervous, Sekhmet came forward and knelt, fastening Kaeoda's sword around his waist, and then bowing and returning to his place. He was glad that it was over, although it had been only a short part of the whole thing. The ceremonies always seemed so long to him, almost unnecessary. His clan's warriors had never performed any of the rites, and they still had won their battles, most of the time.   
The daimyo regarded him for a short moment before turning his attention back to the ceremony. He took a deep breath and shouted, "Glory!"   
As one, all the generals and troops shouted back the reply "Yes!" It came as a deafening roar, again and again, as Kaeoda put on his helmet and mounted his horse. The flags were raised, and those of the men who rode horses mounted as well.   
Sekhmet, for the first time, had a horse as well. He had been taught how to ride it, but was still not very good. But that didn't seem to matter as, for once, he was swept up in the spirit of the others. The priests chanted for victory as they marched to meet their fate.   
It was not far, and a good place for battle. There were easily defended hills Kaeoda and his warriors hoped to capture first, and thus secure the victory more easily. They arrived on the battlefield and could hear the enemy approaching. Sekhmet waited, hearing in the distance the sounds of the war-drums and the conch-shell signal horns, directing the troops. He readied his sword in his hand, clenching the reins in his other fist. He not only had to fight, but he had to control the horse as well.   
Kaeoda directly in front of him and to his side shifted a bit on his horse, and then passed the command. The horns sounded out, and then they charged. As the shouting and screaming filled the air, Sekhmet found it hard to control the horse, as he'd foreseen. He tried to hack at people as they in turn tried to knock him down or kill the horse, and he was forever evading their blows. A rain of arrows fell down on them, lodging into armor plates, and, for the unlucky, faces and eyes. His comrades returned the volley as he mentally pushed aside arrows, keeping them from hitting him and the people next to him.   
Also, remembering what Essah had said, but still not liking it, he tried to keep his eye on Kaeoda at the same time. The older man was tiring, a few of his opponent's blows hitting their marks. And then, suddenly, the daimyo was dehorsed and fighting on foot. Sekhmet edged the horse forward a bit, knocking the helmet from the head of an enemy soldier and slicing the top of his head clean off. Had he survived, the loss of his hair would have been a total disgrace. But he didn't have to suffer that humiliation: the warrior fell and was trampled under the hooves and feet of the others.   
In the lull between one fight and the next, Sekhmet became aware that Essah was on the field. No one else seemed to see him, though, and he was standing behind Kaeoda's attacker. Distracted by seeing his father suddenly appear, he was unable to evade, and someone killed his mount. He jumped away as it fell, rolling to his feet as it crushed someone with the weight of its body.   
He was standing next to the daimyo now, and he saw that his lord was really struggling. Kaeoda inexplicably glanced away for a second, and his attacker went in for the kill. Sekhmet shouted "Lord Kaeoda!" and tried to leap forward, all in one breath, but he knew he was not in time to stop the attacker.   
Suddenly the green glowing shape of Essah behind the enemy warrior reached out and deflected his blade from Kaeoda and at Sekhmet instead. The sword went through the gap between two plates of his armor and sank deeply into his thigh. He cried out and fell as Kaeoda brained the attacker.   
Someone else tried to take advantage of his weakness to cut off his head, to be presented to the enemy lord later. This was a dishonorable practice, but of course the man didn't care about that, thinking only of the money a head would bring.   
Sekhmet's vision was hazy, and he could hardly breathe, let alone move, but he was furious at the fact that his own father had caused him to be wounded. Unable to get away, he dragged his sword upward and rammed it at an angle through his assailant's armor and through his ribcage.   
The enemy soldier's face twisted in a paroxysm of horror, and slumped forward. Hot blood spurted from the gash and onto Sekhmet, suddenly blinding him. He twisted his face away, gasping for air. He was unable to pull his blade from the man's body, and the corpse fell over on top of him as everything went red. 

When he awoke, he was no longer covered in blood on the battlefield. Instead he found himself lying on a soft mat. He looked around slowly and realized that he was in the fortress keep, in someone important's personal chambers. _Perhaps the daimyo himself,_ he thought, blinking away the sleep. He'd been wounded before; never this badly, that was true, but still he had never ended up in the fortress afterward. In fact, neither had anyone else he knew of.   
The pattering noise of rain on the roof came to him. It had a lulling sound, and he was tempted to close his eyes again and go back to sleep. There was a rustle of cloth from behind a screen, and he slowly became aware that there was someone else in the room. A woman was tending to his wounds, and he saw that the gash in his leg had been sewn up. When she knew that he was awake, the woman left the room and returned with Kaeoda.   
He looked different now, wearing a few bandages himself, somehow appearing more grandfatherly. He sent away the attendant. "Sekhmet," he began without preamble, "you saved my life."   
He remembered then, how Essah had turned the enemy's stroke aside from the lord to him, and felt rage well up in him. "It was my duty, my lord," he said, hiding his true emotions easily. "Any other man would have done the same."   
He did not answer, instead asking, "How do you feel? Is the wound giving you any trouble?"   
It was hurting, actually, but he only replied, "Not at all, Lord Kaeoda. I can't even feel it." He began to sit up.   
He chuckled. "Ah, but I know you young men. Always believing you are made of stone. Nothing can hurt you." He gestured for Sekhmet to lay back down and then took a seat next to him.   
He was confused. _Why is the daimyo_ _showing me honor, like his equal? I may have saved his life, but..._   
"What is your family name, your clan name?" Kaeoda asked intently.   
Somewhat embarrassed, he responded, "I have none, my lord. I was never accepted by my clan as one of its members, never had a naming ceremony."   
The lord looked at him thoughtfully. "I shall tell you something, soldier, that I have not let anyone else know. I am dying of a slow wasting sickness, a cancer that no doctor or priest can rid me of. I sought, perhaps, to die with honor on the battlefield, but the gods have willed it not so. Perhaps you are a sign to me."   
He cleared his throat. "All my sons have died young, and my wife is gone as well. I did not take another after her death, and so I have no heirs. My only choice at this time is to adopt a heir. I am indebted to you, Sekhmet, for swaying me from dishonorable thoughts, from giving up and letting myself be defeated. I wish to adopt you as my heir."   
Sekhmet had thought that nothing more could surprise him, but he was proved wrong. "My lord," he managed to say, "are you sure you would want a demon for a son?"   
"It matters not what you are. You are an excellent warrior and an honorable man. I would be honored."   
"I too would be honored, my lord," he said. Kaeoda smiled.   
"You shall be named when you are well. But I say now, as it will be announced, that you are Naaza Sekhmet, my son." With a bow to him, the daimyo rose, and, saying "I shall leave you to rest now," exited the room.   
Sekhmet sat up with an effort, staring after him. If what had just happened wasn't a dream, he had just gone from lowest rank to highest, all with a few words. He had to wonder somehow if the daimyo had gone insane. 

In the darkness of night Essah came to him. He was not asleep, just laying there, listening to the rain, and thinking. As soon as the snake-god appeared, Sekhmet glared at him. "What do you think you're doing?" he exploded. "Why didn't you _tell_ me what you were going to do?"   
Essah replied, "I want for you to have as much as you can have. I can not forgive myself for letting the events in your childhood happen. I have given you power, as much as I can possibly give you. You are Kaeoda's son now, and when he dies you will be the daimyo."   
He'd thought about that during the day, wondering how the people would take it when the event happened. Essah's words jolted him back to his earlier thoughts. _As it is, they too think Lord Kaeoda is mad. Should I become the lord, they will not trust me. They could always argue that he was not fit to make that choice and rise up and take the land for themselves._ As he thought, Essah sat down next to him and flipped back the blanket, preparing to heal his wound.   
With a frown, Sekhmet batted his hands away. "Well, I can't get the people to trust me if I'm getting my wounds miraculously healed, now, can I?" he snapped. Essah looked a little hurt but said nothing, his face growing cold. But Sekhmet was only beginning. "And another thing," he continued, if you're going to pull anything like that again, you have to tell me!"  
"Sekhmet," Essah interjected angrily, "if I had told you it wouldn't have worked. You would be dead now and your head displayed in the hall of your enemies!" He could only glare back at his father. "If what I have given you is not enough, then tell me what you truly want, and it will be yours," he declared.   
He thought for a moment before looking back up at the semi-human figure next to him. "You were right," he said slowly. "I want power. I want to be able to make any stupid human grovel before me." He laughed mirthlessly. "Can you give me that, Essah?"   
"I can give you all earthly power if you promise me one thing," he replied.   
"What's that?" Sekhmet asked suspiciously, having a nagging feeling as to the answer. He was right.   
"Swear to me that you will not join the Dynasty."   
"I can't do that. You said you'd give me power, and what is more powerful than the Dynasty? I've heard the stories, I've seen what hold your master has over you. Why don't you want me to join you, Father?" he asked mockingly. "Perhaps you want it all for yourself."   
Essah sent him a killing glare and vanished, leaving Sekhmet again alone with only his thoughts. 

He could not fight in the next battle, but was able to come and watch the warriors leave, Kaeoda among them. He was treated with respect now because of his new rank, and found it rather strange. After they had gone he went back inside, already bored, to wait for news of the battle. He had decided to try and get some sleep when Essah entered as usual from nowhere, carrying a bloody sword.   
_Now what?_ he wondered with an internal sigh, and raised himself onto his elbows. Essah swept the sword up into his face, pointing it directly at the center of his forehead.   
"Hail, Lord Sekhmet," he said, his voice like ice. "You have your power, and it will be enough, believe me. You know my message by now. Stay out of the Dynasty."   
Sekhmet stared at him, and his eyes went wide. "No! No, damn you, Essah, I never asked you to do this!" He lunged clumsily at the snake-god, but he simply disappeared. As he tried to regain his balance, he heard voices outside his room, coming toward him.   
He half-ran, stumbling outside in time to see Kaeoda being carried in. The body was laid at his feet, and the blood-spattered carriers, one of them being Shoka, bowed deeply to him. Sekhmet stared in shock. Only then did it sink in, and shakily he ordered them to have the body prepared for burial.   
He turned and went back into his room, sitting down in a chair near an open window. The sky outside was gray and dark. It was going to rain again any time now.   
Shoka followed after him, waiting for the inevitable questions. The black-haired general stood in front of him, head lowered in mourning and respect. "How did he die?" Sekhmet finally asked.   
Shoka replied sorrowfully, "An enemy soldier killed him with one blow, my lord. None of our men have ever reported seeing him before. He wore no family mon or banners of any sort, and afterward he just seemed to vanish."   
He felt overwhelmed. "General Shoka, could you please leave? I really need to think about this. I - I do not feel very well at the moment."   
"Of course, my lord Sekhmet," the general replied, bowing low and leaving the room. The whole situation had just hit him, hard. He didn't know whether to laugh, or scream. He was now the daimyo. Lord of the whole land, the army, the fortress, _everything_. He had power, that was true. But he had absolutely no idea what to do with it, or how to keep it now that it was his. 


	8. Part Seven - Lord of the Blood

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Seven - Lord of the Blood 

Six cycles of the seasons had come and gone. The right of the new lord of Kaze had now been uncontested for three years. In the first part of his reign, Sekhmet had been forced to put down a few rebellions as well as keeping his neighbors from turning on him and taking his lands. It had been a very trying time, but now all was relatively peaceful.   
There was still war, of course, but it was happening farther and farther away. The fortress and its village below had become a town, and Sekhmet had to give most of his attention to governing the town and his conquered lands. Consequently, he let his generals lead the battles, sending them directions from home. And they had been successful, and his people had grown rich.   
On a dark, clear summer night, Sekhmet prepared to sleep. He looked out the window a moment, at the sleeping fortress, and then turned back. As he crossed the room, he noticed something on the low table under the window and picked it up. _What is this doing here?_ he wondered, rolling it between his fingers.   
In his hand he held a small green orb on a chain, fastened to it by golden snakes. He frowned at it suspiciously until he remembered what it was. The small piece of crystal was a soul-orb, supposedly capable of capturing a person's soul inside it.   
Sekhmet half-smiled. He'd gotten this from a would-be ally at his wedding two years ago. It had been a marriage of state to unite their two families, and since that time he'd only seen his wife twice. She preferred to live at the house in Edo, and he didn't really care one way or the other. He got the impression she was a nagging bitch anyway.   
He put the orb back on the table and continued across the room, glancing around the area once more out of habit, making sure there were no assassins around. But then, in a shadowy corner, he noticed a shape low against the ground. He brought the torch over there, hand on the knife he always kept with him.   
There, sleeping in the corner, was a large black-scaled snake speckled with gold. Sekhmet blew out his breath in a sigh of relief. It was summer; there were snakes all over the place. He yawned and decided to leave it where it was, since it wasn't hurting anything. Absently, before he put the torch out, he reached out to the snake's mind with his own. He was stunned.   
_It - it's _thinking_! _he realized, quickly recovering. The snake was moving now, sliding away from him. He lunged forward and grabbed it, narrowly missing the fangs. A green symbol began to glow on it, and his own appeared, bathing the room momentarily in a pale green light.   
"Appear in your true form," he demanded, pressing the point of his knife right underneath the place its jaw met its skull. "Or you'll be dead."   
Reluctantly, the snake-form shimmered and changed, growing outward until suddenly he was holding a tall, slender woman by the neck. Immediately he pushed her back against the wall to prevent her from disappearing, although he wasn't positive it would work. She didn't vanish, however, and with his knife still at her throat he looked at her.   
The snake-goddess, for that was what she was, without a doubt, glared back at him with midnight-blue slitted eyes. Her skin was a dark olive color where it was not covered with black and gold scales, and her dark hair, also streaked with gold, reached a bit past her waist, strands moving around without cause. She said nothing, and in annoyance he snapped, "Why are you spying on me? Who sent you?"   
Still she didn't answer, only staring at him, and he almost couldn't break away from her gaze. He pushed the knife closer, and she tried to pull away. He shoved her back roughly, snarling, "Tell me now, or you'll die. I don't care _what_ you are. I'll do it."   
Finally she sighed and stopped struggling. "I wanted to watch you, Sekhmet, son of Essah. I was intrigued by you. Most of the half-breed children do not live as long as you have, and none have ever become as successful. I wanted to see what you were like, what made you different from them."   
He frowned and then let her go. She stepped quickly away from the wall, touching her neck briefly, but, to his surprise, stayed. He stood where he was, gazing at her as she began to wander around the room, looking at the various things he had sitting on tables and in corners. When she came to his sword hanging on the wall she reached up and touched it gently, watching as veins of green sprang up across its surface.   
"What is your name?" he asked finally, and she looked at him and smiled, hand still raised in the air.   
"I am called Aoi," she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She touched the blade again and the glow stopped. She then continued around the room, and he watched her. The room was silent, for a while. He couldn't think of anything to say to her at all, and she wasn't saying anything herself.   
When she paused he walked over to her and grabbed her wrist. "Aoi. Tell me why you're really here," he said.   
She glanced down for a moment and then back up, turning her own hand to grasp his wrist. "What I'm really here for... I'm supposed to ask you to join the Dynasty. And if you're unsure... I'm supposed to take you there. By force."   
He dropped her hand. "It always comes down to this," he spat. "Are all you snake-gods part of the Dynasty, or will one of you someday actually say 'hello' without having anything to do with Talpa?"   
"Yes," Aoi said softly, and he gave her a look of confusion. "We are all a part of the Dynasty. We are all enslaved by Talpa." She raised her hand to a thick iron chain necklace around her neck. At the end of it was a clear crystal. "If I tried to run, he would find me."   
Thoughtfully, he sat on the floor, and she sat across from him, her loose pale brown robe flowing around her. "What about Essah? Does he have... one of those?" Sekhmet pointed at her necklace, and she shook her head, an expression of sadness on her face.   
"No, he does not. Essah - he joined the Dynasty willingly. The master trusts him not to run. He-" Aoi stopped suddenly, as if she wanted to say something more but wouldn't, or couldn't. Instead she looked up at him from under her eyelashes and smiled seductively.   
He tried to ignore it, and asked, "Well then, why is he always warning me not to join it? Does he want to keep the power for himself? Damn it, I'll never understand him!" Sekhmet pounded the floor only once with his fist before she stopped him, her hand over his. Aoi slid closer, next to him, and shrugged.   
"The Dynasty is a very dreary place, Sekhmet. It's much nicer here on Earth." She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he made no move to push her away, surprised only for a moment that her hair wasn't brown, like... _hers_ had been. _  
_ _Foolishness, Sekhmet, Lyonta's been dead for six years!_ he reminded himself. Slowly, he ran his fingers down her back and through her hair, kissing her deeply. She held him even closer to her and kissed him back, pulling at the sash of his robe.   
When the kiss broke, he asked close to her lips, "So, is this something else you were sent here to do?"   
Aoi did not reply, merely reaching up to kiss him again. 

It was later, pale, fading moonlight shining weakly into the room through the open window. Sekhmet woke up with a yawn, and blinked. He carefully disentangled himself from Aoi and rolled to his side, leaning on one elbow. He watched her sleeping, and reached out with his other hand to touch her necklace speculatively, tracing the iron links.   
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. "You sure you can't take this off?" he said quietly. He sat up and crouched over her. _I could break it, I'm sure of it... it's not that strong._   
"Yes, I'm sure," she replied. "Try pulling it, just not too hard. I don't want to heal more of you than I have to."   
He grasped it with both hands and tugged gently. As soon as he put pressure on it, a wave of pain ran through him, and the crystal turned red. He let go hastily and it returned to normal. His hands felt burnt although they looked all right, but she held them between her own and they were healed.   
He sighed and laid back down, lightly touching the scales on her face with the backs of his fingers. She turned to him and began playing with his hair. There was more silence. "Aoi," he asked again, "was this something you were sent here to do?"   
She stopped, giving him a long look. "Yes." He closed his eyes a moment. He'd expected it, so why did hearing it out loud make him feel like he'd just been cut open? "But I didn't have to," she went on. "If I had wanted to, I could have taken you back to the Dynasty without any problems." She raised her hands, and a green light crackled between them. "But I decided not to. Stay here, Sekhmet. I'm not going to force you to come with me."   
"Thank you," he said, gently brushing her lips with his. She smiled very slightly.   
"I will be punished," she responded, sliding her hand into his. "Perhaps even killed. Talpa is very determined to have you join the Dynasty."   
"But why?" he said, sitting up. "Why me? Why not someone else?"   
"Destiny," Aoi replied, also sitting, and reached for her robe. She shrugged into it and fastened the sash. "Essah thinks he can change it... and I hope he is right. I hope I never see you again."   
He was startled. "Why?"   
"Because if I do, then I know you'll be his, body and soul. And that is something I don't want to live to see." She embraced him, her cheek against his. "Farewell, Sekhmet." she whispered in his ear. "For you I face my master's anger." And then she was gone. 

Aoi was the last non-human visitor he had for three years. Essah did not come, had not for a long time, and even the Dynasty soldiers failed to make an appearance. But all that changed one early autumn afternoon.   
Sekhmet was riding through town, surveying the area. Satisfied with what he saw in the residential districts, he rode out into the countryside, leaving all his retainers and servants behind. He was glad to have some peace and quiet away from the cacophony of human voices. Here near the river it was peaceful, warm and, above all, _quiet_.   
He dismounted as he neared the river, kneeling on the bank and removing his gauntlets, dropping them to the ground along with his helmet. He cupped his hands and drank, splashing water on his face, enjoying the cold feel as droplets ran down his neck. When Sekhmet looked up, the sky was dark. He frowned in confusion, and then there was a sudden terrified whinny from his horse. As he sprang to his feet, it charged off through the river and away.   
Sekhmet cursed and spun around, reaching for his sword but not yet drawing it. A man in armor stood in front of him, having appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The armor was strangely made, looking as if it was made out of a single sheet of metal instead of plates sewn together, and over it he wore the armor surcoat of a general or lord, colored black and bright yellow. In his hand he held a kusari-gama. There was an unmistakable feel about him, and Sekhmet knew instantly that this man was Dynasty.   
They stood there for long moments, simply watching each other, and then the other man said, "So you are the famous Lord Naaza Sekhmet."   
Sekhmet looked back at him coldly. "I am. What of it?" The armored man laughed at him, and he tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. "What is it you want?"   
He pulled off his helmet. revealing long red-brown hair. He held the helmet in one hand for a moment, and then it disappeared. Sekhmet was surprised, but he kept his expression exactly the same. It gave the enemy an advantage if he knew what you were thinking.   
"Not impressed? You will be, my dear daimyo. I am Douji Anubis, the Warlord of Cruelty."   
Sekhmet merely raised one corner of his mouth. "Warlord?" He leaned back against a convenient tree.   
"Yes. I have come on behalf of my master Talpa to invite you to join the Dynasty."   
Sekhmet looked back at him in amusement. _So, it's finally happened. They decided it was no use grabbing me, so they decided to take the chance of asking me instead. But... should I? The gods know Essah's cautioned me about it enough... _He half-expected Essah to appear in front of him with his infernal warnings. He focused his gaze on the younger man staring patiently back at him. "Indeed. And why should the Dynasty be so interested in me?"   
Anubis shrugged. "Fortune holds us all, Lord Sekhmet. Talpa has learned of Fate's plan for you."   
"Which is?"   
"To join the Dynasty and become a Warlord. You are the commander of the greatest mortal army in the country. You are feared and hated by all your enemies, and your people are fed and happy. You already have the beginnings of glory, but that is all. Don't you wish for more?" He began to walk away from the river, pausing only to let Sekhmet catch up with him.   
_Only the _beginnings_ of glory? _"More," he stated flatly. He fell into step beside the Warlord.   
"Yes!" Anubis exclaimed. "A change for revenge against those who have slighted you. And, what's more, pure and total power. Talpa offers you a chance at that power... the chance to become a Dark Warlord!" Abruptly the red-haired man stopped and turned, hefting the scythe and chain in his hands. "Allow me to demonstrate!" He leaped high into the air.   
Sekhmet yanked his sword free of its sheath with a curse and held it defensively in front of him. Anubis, in the same moment, shouted "Quake With Fear!" and cast the clawed end of his weapon into the ground. The chains multiplied and sprung up around him, crisscrossing in the air.   
Sekhmet leapt aside, dodging two of the chains before he was caught by the neck and pulled into the air. He was astonished, and the chains were biting hard into his throat, slowly choking him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to hack through the chains with his sword, the other hand reflexively pulling at his neck. Anubis hovered in front of him, laughing. "_Now_ are you impressed?" he snickered.   
Managing to pull the chains away a little, he pointed his sword at the other man and concentrated as well as he could under the circumstances. The beam of green light hit him squarely in the middle of his chest, but he didn't seem injured in the slightest. It wiped the smile off his face, however. _I don't understand! I've seen that explode a man into pieces! It must... must be the armor!_ he thought wildly, trying desperately to keep his consciousness from fading.   
Anubis yanked back on the kusari-gama. The chains vanished into the air, and Sekhmet plummeted to the ground. He twisted frantically as he fell and was able to land on his feet. He gasped in lungfuls of air, his throat burning, as Anubis came back to earth. As soon as he had landed, he rushed at the warlord, and their weapon blades crashed together with a flare of light.   
They struggled, neither of them was able to gain any ground on the other, and then Sekhmet mentally nudged the clawed end of Anubis' weapon, sending it flying back in the other warrior's face. Anubis disengaged, twisting away to avoid the weight, and in that second Sekhmet charged forward, slicing downward with his sword. Anubis caught it on the blade of the scythe, and they were back where they had started.   
Suddenly Anubis's face relaxed into an infuriating grin. "You fight well, daimyo," he said with a laugh. "My master's offer still stands. The power is there, waiting for you to claim it. You were destined to fill the armor of a Warlord. You know this is true! Not even that snake Essah can prevent what Fate has decreed will be!" He chuckled at Sekhmet's involuntary frown. "Yes, I know of him. He has tried his hardest to change your future, but he cannot succeed. Think well on this, Sekhmet! Master Talpa will know your answer."   
Suddenly, in a flash of light, Anubis was gone. Sekhmet stumbled forward before catching his balance again. "Come back here!" he shouted. "Come back here and fight me, you coward!" But his cries fell to the wind. He glared around at the land about him, wondering if what Anubis had said was actually true.   
"Damn!" he shouted angrily, kicking an unoffending rock. He added a few more choice curses dealing with Anubis's mother, his manhood and his sexual practices before beginning to calm down. When he'd finished, Sekhmet whistled sharply, but his horse was either still afraid or out of hearing range. He sighed in irritation and retrieved his helmet and gauntlets, beginning the walk back to town.   
  
Despite his being so tired when he had returned to Kaze, it was still early when he woke up the next morning. The sky was tinted a light pink, the clouds purple from the light. It was the kind of sight other men made poems out of, but not him.   
Not hungry yet, he went outside, waving away the sleepy stablehands. His horse had returned to him during the night, and he saddled it himself and rode out the gates and into the town. He needed to think.   
He walked the horse at a slow pace through the streets as the sun slowly rose. He was still unsure as to whether or not he should join the Dynasty. Oh, it was the _evil_ Dynasty, to be sure, but somehow that didn't matter as much to him as he would have thought. Sekhmet knew that he had seen only a portion of the power a Dark Warlord could command, and that promise of more was what enticed him and kept him awake, wondering.   
There were high-pitched children's shouts coming from a short way down the street, and he paused. There was no one else around, and yet he heard it again. He wondered briefly why they weren't all in bed like everyone else before taking the horse at a trot towards them.   
He could see clearly the situation now. A group of boys, tattered and dirty, were crowded around another child who was lying on the ground, beating and kicking the prone form. Sekhmet felt a momentary twinge of pity but did not move to intervene. It was a fact of life that children would fight each other, and, besides, if he rescued their prey the others would only find him later and continue.   
He started to continue past them when he noticed the victim's hair, spread out over the ground. It was quite long and very unusual, colored red, black and yellow. His interest piqued, Sekhmet reined in the horse in front of the group.   
Gradually the boys noticed him, one by one, and stared up at him in horror. A few kept glancing between him and the child on the ground, and then the whole band tore off in the opposite direction.   
He dismounted and walked to over to where the child was laying. Now he could see that it was a girl, about six or seven years of age. He had to check twice to be sure that she was still alive, for she looked like a corpse. She was suffering from starvation and was bleeding from several scrapes and cuts, wearing nothing but a rotting torn rag. Sekhmet knelt next to her. It was a pitiful sight, but it still did not explain the strange colors of her hair, which was dull and limp.   
He reached out to touch her gently, but when her eyes fluttered open he drew his hand back in shock. It was if he was looking at his reflection. Her eyes looked like his, pupils completely surrounded by the whites, although hers were a bit more diamond-shaped. He knew he was looking at another half-breed like himself, left to rot by the snake-gods and the humans, and along with the pity he felt anger that they should let this happen, wherever they were.   
She stared at him in obvious amazement. "You look like me," she rasped, her voice rough and parched. He nodded and lifted her into his arms. She weighed no more than a sack of feathers.   
"I'm going to take you somewhere safe," he told her, and she blinked slightly. Already people were beginning to come outside and stare. He cradled her against his shoulder, and she put her arms around his neck limply, that one movement seeming to exhaust her. He mounted the horse very carefully and walked it back to the fortress so as not to jostle her too much. It would be safer for her if he walked, but he felt that it would cost time she didn't have.   
Ignoring all the other people in the streets, he asked her, "What is your name?"   
The girl frowned. "Name?"   
"What they call you. My name is Sekhmet."   
She closed her eyes, too exhausted to keep them open for long, also speaking in short sentences to conserve energy. "Girl. They call me 'girl'. Nice lady who had me said 'little one'."   
"You have no name?" The anger flared to new heights. That they would deny her even a name... he had to fight this time to suppress his rage.   
"Not like you do."   
"Do you want one?"   
"Yes."   
He lowered his eyes a moment and considered. None of the girls' names he knew seemed to fit her, so he put random syllables together in his head until he found one that felt right. "How does Chadih sound?"   
"Chadih," she repeated softly. "Good. I like it."   
Sekhmet smiled, although the gesture was lost on her because she couldn't see it, and he shifted her gently. "Where did you come from?" She had to have arrived in Kaze very recently, because he knew he would have heard about it if she had been here for any length of time. Chadih thought for a moment.   
"I dunno," she said finally. "A dark place first, with lots of people not like them. They said 'girl' for name. Then one of them. Nice lady who took care of me. No name for me then too. They killed her. I ran. Hungry. Came here. Got hit a lot." Her life story summarized, she coughed suddenly, wracking her whole body with convulsions.   
"Stop talking," he said worriedly. "We're almost there." Chadih pressed her face into his shoulder and was silent for the rest of the trip. _This is wrong. Someone needs to take care of her... I have to do it. But what if Essah put her here so I'd stay out of the Dynasty? It sounds like something he would do._   
They arrived at the fortress, and he slowly dismounted, letting the servants take the horse. He carried Chadih into the house, not looking at the myriad people at all, and into a secluded room where she wouldn't be bothered by noise. He sat down and held her. She eventually opened her eyes and looked around.   
"You let me stay?" she asked, moving one stick-like arm feebly.   
"Of course I am," he said reassuringly, unable to tell her the truth. _How can I tell this child that she's not going to live to see tomorrow?_ he wondered, feeling a strange tight feeling in his chest. Sekhmet realized suddenly that she had no mark like the one Essah had given him when he accepted him as his son. Chadih had no parents, or at least none who cared.   
"Chadih," he said softly, and she turned her head to look at him. He winced internally at the sight of her sunken face, but just hardened his resolve. She _would_ be one of the snake-gods before she died, and have whatever was rightfully hers that came with that. He explained to her what he was going to do.   
He reached for his knife, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. He had no clue how to perform the ritual, but as he focused on his intention and held the knife against his finger, the words came to him. "I accept you as my daughter, not of blood but of spirit. Bind soul to soul, protect one with the other. My strength to you, your pain I take. Put this upon me, soul entwined."   
He tore open his finger and streaked the blood across her face in a pattern. It was different from any of the other snake-god symbols he had seen, although similar to his own, but he knew he was doing it right. She gasped slightly as the warm blood touched her face, and then relaxed.   
There was a sudden glow as her symbol sprang into brilliant light, his echoing in intensity. Sekhmet was suddenly hit with an odd feeling, and an exclamation of surprise escaped his lips as he realized that he could hear her thoughts, although scattered and unclear, in his head. _Could Essah hear me?_ he asked himself as the glow died away.   
But that particular thought left quickly, unremembered. He was swamped with a sinking feeling, and he knew that Chadih was very, very close to dying. But, somehow, she felt his presence as well. He didn't know how he knew it, but Chadih felt him with her and struggled to stay alive.   
He touched her face, lightly stroking it. "You don't have to stay, Chadih," he whispered. "You can go. When you wake, you will have been reborn. You will be happy, with parents who love you."   
She stopped fighting and went limp, a smile on her face.   
He felt as if he had just been stabbed. Sekhmet had the sensation that his soul was being ripped apart, and his world exploded into a green glow. He cried out in pain and slumped forward, the green receding into a deep fathomless blackness as he began to fall unconscious. But a voice at the back of his head told him that if that happened, he would die, and so he fought against it, finally snapping back to reality.   
He gasped violently, trying to reorient himself, when several servants and aides burst in, gawking at him. He looked down at the body in his lap and then back up at them. He commanded them to prepare for a funeral, and the servants hastily left to obey. But the others, men with rank which made them feel important, staying, hovering in the doorway. "Get out!" he shouted angrily, and they scurried away.   
He sighed, brushing back her hair. Sekhmet knew that he couldn't wait seven days to bury her as custom dictated. That was to allow the soul to depart, but he thought that what he had felt _was_ her soul departing, wrenching itself away from his. He couldn't even bring himself to put her down now as it was, and he needed to bury her as soon as possible so that the hole inside him could begin to heal. 

The funeral took place that night under a bright full moon. Sekhmet stood alone at the top of a low hill, underneath the one tree there. A few kanji had been carved into its bark by one of his men, spelling out her name. He would have preferred to have taken care of the whole thing himself, but he had never been taught to write, or read, and it was too late in his life to learn, at any rate.   
He stood in front of the grave that had been dug in the shade of the spreading branches in daytime, holding Chadih's body in his arms. She was dressed in a white cotton shroud, her hair and body washed and clean of dirt and blood. Her long tricolored hair flew like a banner in the breeze.   
Sekhmet bowed his head a moment, finding his control again before kneeling and placing her on the cloths spread out inside the grave. He wrapped the ends around her body, covering her face from view. He didn't know any prayers to say, and didn't really think they'd help anyway.   
Sekhmet gazed down at her one last time. _And what legacy will she leave? How many more of my kind will die in the streets, thrown into rivers and left to rot unburied? Who will remember Chadih? I will remember, and the night will remember, and when I am able I will make the snake-gods remember and pay for their negligence._   
He was forced to pause once more before taking a handful of dirt, ready to throw it down on the body. Before he was able to, Essah appeared next to the tree. Sekhmet glared at him balefully, letting the earth slip through his fingers.   
His father glanced down into the grave, and with a frown knelt and flipped back the cloth from Chadih's face. The frown grew deeper as he looked at her.   
"So, is she one of yours?" Sekhmet asked caustically.   
Essah turned his golden gaze back to him. "You are my only child, Sekhmet."   
"Well, the world should be thankful," he snarled back.   
"I did not come here to discuss a corpse," Essah snapped, his expression shifting to one of worry. "I came because I felt you die this morning, and was unable to come to your aid."   
_He must have felt it as Chadih's death affected me. If I really died, he'd know it, the same way I did. _He didn't say anything, simply glaring at his father and wishing that looks really could kill. Essah frowned again at him and looked into the grave once more, closer this time. Chadih's mark glowed as Essah neared her, even in death.   
In confusion, Essah asked, "Who marked her? I never-"   
"I did."   
His eyes widened in realization. "Sekhmet! That was an incredibly... _stupid_ thing to do! Binding your soul to that of a dying child..."   
"I don't care," he answered defiantly. "I wanted to. No one else will take care of their bastards, so the bastards have to take care of each other."   
"You could have died. You almost did."   
"I don't care," he said again, and Essah turned his gaze away from him and back down at Chadih. A speculative look crossed his face, and suddenly he held his hands over the body. His face went blank, and his hands and eventually his whole body began to glow. Sekhmet felt a flicker of hope arise as the glow spread to Chadih. _Perhaps he's resurrecting her... _he thought, but then he realized that she would be happier dead than alive here, even as his daughter.   
"Essah!" Sekhmet demanded angrily. "What are you doing?" His father either didn't hear him or was ignoring him, and he began to let his anger show. Trying to get his attention, he tugged at his arm. He felt strange, as if whatever Essah was doing to Chadih's body was affecting him as well, and he knew that some kind of bond was still there.   
Nothing was working, and so finally he tried a new tactic. "Oh, did you hear the news, Essah? I got invited to the Dynasty yesterday by some... oh, yes, Anubis was his name. They want me to be a Warlord. Can you imagine that? So I guess I'll be seeing you up there, because it sounds like a very good deal, and-" He smirked as Essah broke off and whirled to face him.   
"I forbid you to join the Dynasty!" he cried.   
Sekhmet laughed at him. "You can't tell me what to do, Essah."   
The snake-god glared at him. "I'm warning you! You cannot!"   
Suddenly, Sekhmet asked, "How did all the snake-gods come to be enslaved by Talpa, Father?" He knew he had hit a nerve, and grinned as Essah looked down and did not answer, instead turning back to the grave and finishing what he had been doing. "See, unless you can tell me the truth, I won't listen to your warnings. You can't expect me to follow you blindly, oh exalted one. Give me a good reason."   
Essah looked at him sadly. "I can not do what you ask. Not yet."   
He shrugged. "No deal, then." Essah disappeared without another word. Sekhmet peered closely at Chadih, but nothing seemed changed in the slightest. With a sigh, he picked up a handful of the dark earth and cast it down on the body. 

Seven days later, Sekhmet was asleep when he was suddenly jolted awake by a feeling that something was clutching at his insides. He sat up straight, staring into the darkness, and knew that something had happened to the body. Gasping out a curse and his father's name, he pulled on some clothes. He glanced around the room for the thing he wanted, too much in a hurry to light a torch.   
"I know I left it somewhere... ah!" he exclaimed, snatching something from a table and stuffing it into his sleeve. He raced from the keep, making sure to take his sword, and went to the stables, grabbing the first horse he saw. He rode, uncomfortably bareback, out to the burial site. He knew what he would find there.   
The grave had been opened, and Essah knelt over it, glowing and chanting in some strange language. Sekhmet leapt from the horse and dragged him back from the body. His father struggled to pull away, eyes unfocused. "Damn you, leave her alone! Let her have her rest, you bastard! Just leave her alone!"   
Essah came back to himself and yanked his arm out of his grip, baring his teeth. Sekhmet unsheathed his sword and stood between the snake-god and the grave.   
Essah summoned his sword as well. "Let me pass."   
"Not on your life."   
Essah lunged forward, and he parried the blow and pushed him back. Suddenly Essah sent energy through his sword, causing it to glow, and Sekhmet's sword responded, jolting him. He dropped it and leaped, shoving his father to the ground. Calmly, Essah placed his hands against Sekhmet's chest and shocked him with some kind of crackling energy force, knocking him out cold.   
  
When he woke up he did not move, peering at Essah who was again kneeling over the grave. Slowly, carefully, Sekhmet reached into his sleeve and pulled out the thing he had taken from his room: the soul-orb. _I hope this works as well as he said it would,_ Sekhmet thought as he pushed himself to his knees and began the chant to activate the orb. Essah finished his own chant, and Chadih's glowing body rose out of the grave toward his outstretched hands.   
He shouted the next part of the chant, and Essah turned to look at him, surprise and sadness written across his features. Sekhmet made a gathering gesture, and Essah cried out in pain, holding the body reflexively closer to him. That cry was music to his ears, and exultantly, he grinned and said the last word. His father gasped violently, and, in a flash of green-black light, vanished.   
The orb glowed brightly, and Sekhmet collapsed. When he was able to move again, he peered into the orb. Inside, something was swirling where there had been emptiness before. He laughed shortly and hung the orb around his neck, crawling over to the grave. There was a heap of cloth next to it, but nothing else. Chadih had disappeared as well as Essah.   
He spat away the blood that had trickled into his mouth from his forehead and looked at the sky. Spinning destiny, the whirl of chaos - it all confronted him in that moment, and in that moment he chose.   
"Talpa!" Sekhmet called out to the swiftly darkening sky. "Hear my choice! I choose the Dynasty! I choose to be your servant for eternity! Hear me! I accept!"   
There was a rumble from far beneath the ground, and the earth began to tremble. It shook more and more violently, and if he hadn't already been kneeling he would have been knocked to the ground. In front of him rose a tremendous red gate, and as its doors opened Sekhmet could hear a deep-voiced laugh echo all throughout his mind.   
A gale of winds swept from the gate, lifting him into the air. He closed his eyes as a strange tingling feeling enveloped him. The winds spun him around as his clothes dissolved and his subarmor formed around him. Sekhmet cried out and laughed in the same breath, flinging his arms open wide. Pieces of red and green armor began to form around his body, thick and yet strangely lightweight, and four swords appeared in the sheaths at his sides, two more crossed on his back.   
He gasped, and the sudden absence of the wind made the noise even more conspicuous. He looked out from under the helmet of the armor and saw that the winds had stopped, but he was still floating in the air. And yet he was not afraid of falling, filled with the strange and yet familiar feel of the armor. With a laugh Sekhmet propelled himself through the gate.   
Once he was inside, the gates clanged closed and the world shifted. He found himself standing in a large, dark throne room. The blue-flamed candles in the room flickered at his appearance and then just as suddenly returned to normal.   
As he looked around, he saw Anubis standing to one side of the throne, regarding him with mild curiosity. But he was ignorable for the moment, because on the throne a giant spectral helmet appeared, red-masked, white hair falling down to rest on non-existent shoulders. "Welcome, Sekhmet, my Warlord of Venom," Talpa boomed.   
Sekhmet knelt before the throne. "I greet you, my master," he responded. "I look forward to serving you." 


	9. Part Eight - Warlord

Note: The parts with Unacera in them were written by Unacera herself! 

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Eight - Warlord 

It was hard to keep track of time in the Dynasty. The horrible beauty of the Netherworld was ageless, unchanging, as was everything in it. The thought of anyone in this place aging and dying of natural causes was laughable. One died here only by another's hand or one's own foolishness.   
There were no seasons, no yearly death and renewal. Ceaseless, neverending through billions of Earth years, the Netherworld and the Dynasty, as well as its other, lesser lands and people, went on. The small globe of Earth had not even been born yet from the mass of celestial gases when the Netherworld passed its first thousand millennia, and yet one looking at it now would have discerned no physical change from the time of its creation.   
The newest resident of Talpa's palace had only a little trouble adjusting to the alienness of the landscape and even the strange difference of the air. Its familiar oddness was as comfortable to him as that of his armor. Although he'd had it for only a few - days? weeks? - it was as if he'd worn it his whole life.   
He had returned to Earth a day or two, perhaps more, after he had arrived in the Netherworld. He wasn't sure if he could manage to drop himself in the right spot, but he had managed it. Sekhmet appeared on the World of Mortals in the same place he had given up his mortality.   
He had looked around briefly and found nothing changed. Chadih's small grave was still open, the dirt piled on the ground, his old sword still laying where he'd dropped it. He picked it up to keep as some kind of memento of his past life. It wasn't as if he actually _needed_ another...   
Sekhmet gazed off in the distance, in the direction Kaze would be, and smiled slightly. Doubtlessly there was fighting amongst his former people as they tried to decide who would rule them. The peace and prosperity he had given more than ten years of his life to maintain had gone in the blink of an eye.   
And now he had time to devote to destruction, to assimilating this world into Talpa's empire and using the energy of its people to grow more power. Sekhmet understood his new master and his new purpose very well. What were the weak there for, except for the strong to use?   
And the world was much larger than he had realized. It wasn't flat, as he had thought, and across the great oceans he had never seen with mortal eyes there were more lands and more people to use and rule over and destroy. He paused for only one moment before returning to his new home. Nothing bound him to the Earth anymore, and he would be glad to see it be mashed in Talpa's hands like the ball of mud it was. 

He was almost positive that he had been in the Dynasty for two weeks now, and Sekhmet was getting frustrated. There was energy, power seeping from the very walls of the palace, and he saw how easily Anubis used that network of energy to get from place to place. He had been able to call on the armor itself to go to Earth and back, but this... _jumping_ from place to place he was unable to master.   
Wearing only his comfortable subarmor, he concentrated again on vanishing from his chambers and appearing in the hall outside. The energy accepted him into itself easily, but as he focused it jerked him through the ether and dropped him where it wanted.   
Sekhmet cursed and tried again, and again. He got closer to his intended destination the more he practiced, but his head was beginning to ache with the effort. _I'm sure Anubis never had this much trouble. He's probably laughing his head off at me right now! _He didn't like the other Warlord much. He always acted superior, always looked at him as if he was some kind of foolish child. _And I don't care if he_ was _here before me..._   
Distracted, the next time he entered the energy he couldn't control it at all. He was tossed all the way to the other side of the palace and down underneath the ground, in a part of the castle he'd never seen before. He materialized into darkness, a single blue-flamed torch flickering behind him.   
Sekhmet pulled it away from the wall and moved forward, curious as to where he was. It looked like a kind of dungeon, but he'd already been to the main ones. They were nothing like this dark, woody-smelling corridor. As he continued on, a strange feeling began to creep up his nerves. It felt almost threatening, in a way.   
Sekhmet called his armor, feeling the air wave out around him, the torch flickering, total darkness blanketing his eyes and then leaving. Immediately he felt more confident, powerful. Whatever was down here wouldn't stand a chance now if it dared to attack him.   
At the end of the hall there was a door, and that was all. It was made of stone, with a mass of entwining snakes carved on its face. Each one had tiny gems set in place to serve as eyes, and a large gem in the middle of the mass glowed purple, then red, then orange and green and blue, rotating through the entire spectrum in a hypnotizing way.   
He placed a gauntleted hand against the door, tracing the carvings. The power was great here, sealing the door closed. Sekhmet wanted to get to the other side of it, had to. The door wouldn't budge, however. In fact, he wasn't sure it even was a door. Perhaps it was just a carving on the rock face.   
He jammed the torch into a wall bracket, closed his eyes, and focused again. The energy was concentrated especially thickly here at this spot, drawing him in and through. With almost effortless ease he had teleported through the door and into whatever lay beyond.   
Sekhmet opened his eyes to find himself in a huge lighted cavern - _yellow_ light, the light of Earth. In the light, which came from everywhere and nowhere, stood many tall human-like figures. As he stood there, watching, more and more appeared, teleporting and entering in from adjacent caves. When his eyes had adjusted to the light, Sekhmet looked in what felt like awe at his father's kin - the snake-gods, his people.   
They were staring at him as well, looking on in amazement. Perhaps one or two hundred people made their way into the cavern. All of them had a kind of alien beauty about them, their eyes huge and slitted, glittering scales on their bodies, many with hair colors humans could never possess.   
Finally one stepped forward, a male with shortish brown hair that was shaved on the sides and stuck up on top, falling forward over his face. "Who are you?" he demanded, arms folded. "How did you get in? None of Talpa's servants can come through that door."   
Sekhmet smiled to himself and removed his helmet, letting it disappear. His symbol glowed brilliantly on his forehead, and they recognized it immediately. There was astonishment and then anger from them, murmuring and whispers. "It's you!" the brown-haired one exclaimed. "Essah's bastard!"   
"Yes, I am Sekhmet, the Warlord of Venom," he announced, noting with faint delight that this seemed to make many of them flinch.   
"But... it can't be! Aoi sacrificed herself to keep you out of the Dynasty!"   
"Did she now?" Sekhmet responded, curious. "What happened to her?"   
The man came forward, frowning, his vertical pupils narrowing angrily. "I will show you." The snake-god put a hand lightly on his arm, and they both vanished, appearing in a dark room. Sekhmet called a torch into his hand - _that_ he could do, at least - and saw that they were in the lower dungeons of the palace. His guide stayed behind as he went to the back of the cell.   
The faint blue light illuminated a corpse chained to the wall, a body identifiable as Aoi's. He felt nauseous looking at it. He had seen a lot of disease in his time, but nothing at all like this. She was rotting, maggots infesting the flesh, her skin falling off to reveal dead muscle and infected tissue. Her right eyeball hung by a nerve from its socket, resting lightly on her sunken cheek. He raised a hand to his face to block out the stench and to cover his mouth, just in case.   
He took an involuntary step back. "Why don't you get rid of the body?" he croaked in revulsion, unable to tear his eyes away.   
"Aoi," the man behind him called, "there's someone here to see you."   
Sekhmet glanced back at him in shock and confusion and terror and then back down at her, his heart beating in his throat. The corpse turned her head and looked directly at him. _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods... _The phrase ran through his mind, unstoppable. _She's still_ alive_!_   
He mastered his disgust, bracing himself and taking a few deep breaths. He dropped his hand and came closer, crouching down next to her as a strange crackle of light ran off her body and into the air. "Oh, gods," he said softly, "what happened?"   
Her voice was no more than a whisper, the vocal cords obviously straining. "Sekhmet... I am... failed..." Her lips moved, no sound coming out, and then she spoke in his mind, faintly making herself heard. _I am punished for you... you stay home. Not here, no... there. I cannot die, not now, not until a blade free me. Sekhmet... is you. You... _   
His mouth filled with the taste of bile, and he choked it back down, burning his throat. She was silent for a long time. "Aoi?" he said tentatively.   
_I die and die but I can't _die_!_   
Her mental scream filled his mind, caused him to drop the torch and clamp both his hands over his ears as though it would help. "Stop it!" he yelled, leaning over close to the ground. The torch fluttered but stayed alight.   
_Help me..._   
"Why have none of the others freed you yet?"   
_They cannot. No weapon can they have, no blade. Must have blade... _   
He frowned, remembering. "Essah had one. Couldn't he have done it?" Sekhmet asked frantically.   
_Essah..._ Her soundless voice was full of longing. _Essah doesn't know. Essah never came back..._   
Sekhmet clutched at his chest where the orb would be, feeling guilty. He'd always hated that feeling, promised himself he'd never feel it again. To never worry about his actions, to always be free from remorse and guilt. They expected him to free her, to release her from her punishment. "What's that light?" he asked as the flickering energy ran off her again.   
_Talpa eats my power. He grows... I shrink. He takes and takes and punishes and hurts... _   
Sekhmet closed his eyes, clenching his fists, and then opened them again, staring at her. She saw, read his mind in his eyes, and her keening wail filled his thoughts, ate at his very core. "Enough!" he gritted, jaw clenched, and stood.   
He turned deliberately away and faced the other snake-god, who had an unbelieving expression on his face. "We are leaving!" he told him, and the man simply nodded, going over and picking up the torch, brushing Aoi's hand gently. A patch of skin fell off at the contact, and he sighed wearily. Returning to the other side, he touched Sekhmet's arm again, reluctantly, and snuffed the torch before returning them to the great lighted cavern.   
At their return, all the others looked at him hopefully, and, although he wanted to look away, he met their eyes without blinking. They saw as well what he had done, what he had decided. Some of them looked poised and ready to attack him, but others calmed them down. The man at his side left him and went over to join his people.   
"Now," Sekhmet began slowly, speaking as if they were children instead of immortal, ancient beings. "I want you to tell me exactly why you are slaves of the Dynasty, and what Essah's part was in all of this."   
After some hesitation, a female with pale green hair stepped forward, to the dismay of the others. "He needs to know," she told them softly. "Half his blood is Essah's, and he should know the deeds of his sire in centuries past."   
The woman turned back to him, smiling gently. "When the world was young, we lived in great golden palaces and were free to do what we pleased. No master ruled us or could have -- we had great power and used it. Humans then were as animals, little more than apes. They worshiped us along with their own gods as time passed. But we were not content to stay the way we were."   
Another one took up where she left off. "We killed each other. We fought amongst ourselves and killed each other until almost all that were left you see here before you. Yet, one among us, a young male called Essah, sought to make peace. He went between the opponents, always neutral, never taking sides, but no one would listen to his words. We just went on warring and killing..." He sighed. "Essah saw that we were on the verge of wiping each other out, and so he slipped away from his parents and family and gained entrance to the Netherworld."   
He sat down and the same man who had taken Sekhmet to the dungeon strode forward. "Essah made a deal with Talpa, Lord of the Dynasty. He... _sold_ us, sold his people into slavery! And what did he receive for this, for our lives? Talpa gave him a broken trinket, a 'Jewel of Life', a worthless relic! And he didn't even _keep_ it!" the man shouted, almost sputtering in rage. "He _gave it away_!"   
The first woman soothed the brown-haired man, hushing him. "Essah was little more than a child then, but his plan did do what he had hoped. We stopped fighting, and he promised to free us. Essah is our hope, our leader," she said. "And yet even he could not escape Talpa. The demon held us hostage, threatening to exterminate us if Essah did not serve him loyally and faithfully."   
She looked at the ground briefly. "And he has. Talpa trusts him, knowing Essah would do anything for him, even kill one of us if Talpa asked. He plays his role, so that we may be freed. He is our bane... but he is also our hope."   
Sekhmet looked around at them all, standing there in the cavern somberly, fallen gods, and felt nothing except superiority. He started to chuckle, and they stared at him in shock.   
"How perfectly pathetic," he laughed. "And you call yourselves _gods_? And Essah is the greatest among you?" He suppressed his laughter, smirking. "You have proven beyond my wildest dreams that you are not as perfect as you have thought."   
He began to pace back and forth, suddenly stopping and turning to them. "I do believe you can think of nothing but yourselves," he began. "You leave bastard half-breeds to die and suffer on Earth, suffer worse than you believe yourselves to suffer here in the Dynasty. They are _your_ children, and if you're going to fuck with humans you should take responsibility for them, yes?" He noted with pleasure that several of them, both men and women, looked guilty.   
Fading memories of Chadih surfaced in his mind, the starving pale face of the dying child, her eyes looking at him though the darkness, dead and empty. "A half-breed girl died in my arms," he said darkly, "for nothing. No one wanted her. She didn't even have a name. The humans don't want us. You don't want us. The lives of my kind mean nothing at all."   
Sekhmet extended his arm and called for the orb. It appeared in his hand, and he curled his fingers around it tightly. "You're supposed to be so powerful. You can't rely on Essah to save you now. You'll have to do it yourselves."   
"What is that supposed to mean?" someone demanded irately.   
He grinned, reaching for the orb's chain and lifting it up for them to see. "Father and I had a little disagreement," he said, flicking the orb gently. It swung back and forth, shining with a dim green glow. "Say hello to your friends, Essah," he told the orb.   
"This is not possible!" someone cried, pushing their way up to him. He took the orb in his hands, and it pulsed rapidly. The snake-god let go of it quickly, his large eyes full of despair. The others burst out into shocked exclamations, and Sekhmet waited until they were finished, delighted at their reactions.   
"Here's your hope," he said, letting the orb fall back down to the end of its chain. "You know," he commented conversationally, "you really should be more careful with your children."   
He focused and teleported before the effect of his little speech could wear off. He had no specific destination in mind, and so when he arrived he was relived to see that he knew where he was. The large room he was in was like a kind of library, and enormous blue-flamed fire burning at the end of it.   
There was a sudden flash of light, and Sekhmet turned around, not exactly surprised to see a snake-goddess standing there. She fairly glittered with self-importance, not one thing out of place. Her hair sported four different colors, and each separate hue was braided and coiled around her head. "What do you want?" he asked tiredly.   
"My name is Kiyaa," she said, approaching him. "I want to ask you about that child you said died."   
"What about her?" he asked suspiciously.   
"What did she look like?" Kiyaa asked intently.   
He described her, peering at the snake-goddess and suddenly knowing why she was so interested. "You little bitch!" he breathed. "She was yours, wasn't she?"   
Kiyaa nodded and turned to look into the fire, wrapping her arms around herself. "Yes... about seven or eight years ago I consorted with a human and bore a half-breed girl. I did not want her to grow up in the Dynasty and be turned to evil, so when she was four I gave her to a human to raise. I did not name her so I would not get attached to her, and instructed the human not to either until the girl was eight years of age. By then I would have forgotten about her and not want to take her back." Kiyaa turned to look at him. "I really don't know how she could have ended up with you. She was healthy and well when I left her. And yet you say she died..."   
Sekhmet glared at her in disgust. "Died? Yes, she died. She died of starvation and from being beaten by human children. I gave her a name. I marked her as my own, and I helped her to die in peace. And because you all can't stay away from the humans and stick to your own kind, how many more will die the same way?"   
Her eyes opened wide. "How _dare_ you say that! You can never know what it is like for us, to be slaves here for thousands of years! Our children cannot be born through pain or into pain. There have been no true-blooded children since we were enslaved. We can hardly even find pleasure in each other... how dare you judge us! You are only a bastard."   
_Oh, I'll make you pay for what you have done!_ "I know only what I know," he replied. "And I know that Talpa won't miss _you_ at all!" He drew the swords on his back, crossing the blades.   
"I wouldn't try it, little boy," she answered, a deadly expression on her face. One of her hands glowed with energy, and she raised it in the air. "One way or another, Talpa will lose a slave today."   
He growled and lunged forward, swords extended, and she braced herself, ready to defend. Just seconds before they clashed together, mocking laughter was heard from the doorway. Both Kiyaa and Sekhmet paused, turning toward the source.   
Anubis stood in the entrance, laughing at them. "Oh, please do tell me what's going on here," he said, grinning widely. "Tell me, is it merely practice or something serious?"   
Neither of them was willing to tell him, however, and with a shrug he came further into the room. "Go back with the others," he ordered, pointing at Kiyaa, and with a curt bow she obeyed. Anubis looked at him as he resheathed his swords. "Fighting women?" he said, smirking. "Surely you can find a better opponent."   
Sekhmet glared at him and turned on his heel, stalking out the door, the shreds of his dignity trailing behind him. If he'd had to choose the most important thing he'd learned that day, it would have to be the fact that he truly hated Anubis. 

Sekhmet entered the throne room in full armor, summoned by his master. He bowed after approaching the throne and the floating helmet above it. "You have called for me, my emperor?" he asked.   
"I have an assignment for you, Sekhmet," he boomed. "It is time for you to go to Earth. It is time to invite the next man destined to be a Warlord to join the Dynasty."   
He nodded in acknowledgment, and the large viewscreen sprang into life at one end of the dark room. The green backdrop of a forest became visible, and the figure of a man, small in comparison to the tall dark trees, could also be seen.   
It seemed that the viewscreen came closer to the man, and Sekhmet looked at him curiously. His clothes were ragged and dirty, and his hair was wavy, tangled, and very long. Strangely, it was pure white, although his face was young. His left eye was sewn closed and was encrusted in dried blood. He was stalking silently through the woods after some unseen prey.   
"This is Rajiyura Dayus," Talpa announced behind him. "He once was the general of a great army, but he was captured by an oni and his mind was stolen. He is under her control, and you will need to break her hold on him before inviting him to join me."   
"How must I do this?" Sekhmet asked, turning back to face his master.   
A length of chain appeared in the air and floated over toward him, glowing a dim red. "It is not hard to accomplish. Merely break the talisman to break the curse." He took the chain as it hovered in front of him and coiled it, hanging it at his waist. "I will know when Dayus accepts the offer."   
Sekhmet nodded, and turned to look at the image on the screen. _I want to go _there_,_ he thought, and _jumped_, his form disappearing tracelessly into the darkness.   
He arrived in the forest without a problem, looking around at his surroundings before starting to move forward. It was dark, the trees huge with age. It almost reminded him of the Dark Sister, in a way.   
Sekhmet peered around, frowning. Dayus was nowhere in sight, but, his senses heightened by the influence of his armor, he felt that someone was nearby. _Better be careful... don't know how he'll react. _He stopped walking and waited.   
Dayus walked right onto the path and stopped still, staring. Sekhmet opened his mouth to say something, but Dayus simply turned on his heel and ran. "Damn it, wait!" he shouted, tearing off after him. "Wait! _Dayus_! Stop running!"   
At the sound of his name the man paused, not turning around. He looked back over his shoulder and said something in a strange, soft, clicking language. Sekhmet tried to edge a little closer, carefully, trying to avoid scaring him like he would avoid scaring a deer, but the man darted forward again, running quickly over fallen leaves and pine needles with hardly a sound. Sekhmet followed unerringly until he caught up again. _Perhaps the armor scares him, _he thought, pulling off his helmet and sending it away so he'd have both hands free.   
Dayus turned and looked at him, this time saying something identifiable as a human language. "Who are you? Do you want to hurt her? You can't hurt her."   
"My name's Sekhmet," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you."   
"Are you going to hurt _her_?" Dayus persisted, speaking almost as if he were a child. It sounded strange, this simpleness from someone with a deep, adult voice.   
"Her?"   
"The oni. You can't hurt her. I love her."   
"I'm not going to hurt the oni," he said, edging a bit closer. "What are you doing here?" Dayus said nothing but did not run, looking at Sekhmet with unabashed interest. "How did you get here?" he tried again.   
Dayus shook his head. "I can't tell you. You want to hurt the oni."   
"I'm not going to do anything to your oni!" he said sharply. "Trust me, Dayus."   
"Trust?" he said, turning his head sideways. "The oni says not to trust. She knows everything. She is everything." He continued on in the strange language.   
_The oni language,_ Sekhmet realized. He looked at Dayus closely. "What about before the oni?" he asked.   
He frowned, looking confused. "There's nothing before the oni," Dayus said, gesturing wildly. "I have been with the oni forever. I love her!" he shouted.   
"Well, you had to have known something before the oni," Sekhmet pointed out. "How else would you be able to talk to me?"   
Dayus grew flustered at this reasoning, mouth moving soundlessly, and then he suddenly broke into a rage. "You're lying! You're lying! You want to hurt her!" He waved his arms, the threads binding his eye closed suddenly glittering.   
There was a tremendous, ear-splitting roar, and a monstrous undead army appeared in front of him, flesh hanging from the re-animated bones. Sekhmet reached back and drew his swords reflexively, his eyes widening in surprise. _How did he do that? I can't believe it! _The army advanced on him, and he stood defensively, waiting.   
He couldn't defend against all of them at once, and one of the corpses slipped past his swords and struck at him, the metal of its staff banging against the shoulderplate of his armor. _I see why Talpa wants him as a Warlord, _Sekhmet thought, parrying another blow. _His power even without armor is great..._   
He remembered seeing Dayus's eye glittering as he called the army, and had a sudden thought. Sekhmet crouched down and leapt into the air, his armor's power helping to carry him safely over the undead and next to Dayus. Letting go of a sword and freezing it in mid-air with his mind, he punched him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.   
He took the hilt of his sword, sheathing both of them and watching in satisfaction as the army's image suddenly flickered and went transparent, eventually dissolving into nothingness. He smiled and turned back to the other man, who was lying curled on the ground, sobbing.   
He hesitated a moment, unsure. "Dayus," he said, and the man looked up at him. "Oh, get up," he said finally, and then bent and hauled Dayus to his feet. The strange mist of madness and control swirling in his one eye had begun to clear, if only a little. He simply stood, staring at him.   
In a voice hardly above a whisper, Dayus began to speak. "I hate her. I hate her, I hate what she makes me do!"   
"I can help you," Sekhmet said softly. "Master Talpa of the Dynasty has made it possible. He wants you to join the Dynasty, too, Dayus, and you can have power and glory and the oni can never hurt you again. Don't you remember, Dayus? You used to fight in the army, you used to be a general. Remember the way that made you feel? You can have your life back again."   
His one violet eye burned with a strange fire. "Yes, I want that, I want you to help me..."   
He reached for the chain, pulling it forward and uncoiling it, letting the links of the long chain fall to the ground. He took one and end and then the other, placing them in Dayus's hands and curling his fingers around it. He crouched down and reached for the middle of the chain, standing and holding it in front of his face. It slowly began to glow red, the glow traveling through both of them until they were outlined in a scarlet halo.   
Sekhmet, staring into Dayus's haunted face, yanked hard. The links bent apart and snapped audibly. The glow around Dayus flared, and he screamed in agony, dropping the chain and falling forward. Sekhmet hastily let go of his ends and grabbed his wrists, holding him up.   
He could see images of strangers, people he had never met, remembering them as if they were his own. Dayus's parents, siblings, one young man especially standing out. Also there was a pretty black-haired woman, a child, and at the last a monster, spider-shaped, that could only be the oni, and even then she transformed into a silver-haired woman of breathtaking beauty. Thoughts and memories not his own filled his mind, sweeping him away as Dayus tried desperately to escape the onslaught, crying out in pain.   
_--"But what if they die?"   
"I'm not gonna let that happen, Mori, no matter what they say. She can keep her honor, but she's gonna keep her life too!"--   
--"You are perhaps one of the greatest warriors I have ever seen. Rajiyura Dayus, I name you General and head of this army."--   
--"Look, Dayus! Isn't he beautiful? Look, we have a son!"--   
--"I'm afraid you have come home to tragedy. Your brother Mori was chosen by the oni for her sacrifice. He is to be given to her at dawn."--   
--"I know you have to do this, but please be careful! Come back home to me..."   
"I love you, Aki, and I love our son, and I am going to kill that oni and come back to you, you'll see!"--   
--"You, you, you! It's always you! I was going to be the hero, I was going to kill the oni and save our village, but you had to come home and ruin it all! The great general saving his people... well, no more! It's my turn, Dayus! I'll be second to you no longer!"--   
--"No! No, damn you, you killed my brother!"   
"He just tried to kill you, little thing. Turnabout's fair play, is it not?"--   
--"There is darkness in the heart of every mortal, little thing, even you. And in you especially it runs deep... dark and deep, there is evil in your heart, Dayus of the Mortals! All you need is something to bring it to the front. You will become like me. You will be like an oni, my little Dayus, and all the world will weep!--_   
The last of the images swept before Sekhmet's eyes, that of Dayus as he used to be - a handsome young man with two violet eyes, his hair dark brown, not a trace of the haunted look on his face. And then that picture disappeared, and his own thoughts and the darkness of the forest returned to him.   
Dayus was shuddering, and when he looked up the madness was gone, his eye clear of the strange swirling clouds. But he was still disoriented, shaking his head. When he looked up, Sekhmet asked, "What do you remember?"   
"Everything," he replied unsteadily, "everything. I will tell you... I must tell _someone_." He nodded, and Dayus began speaking. "I come home from war to find that an oni is threatening my village, that every year she demands a human sacrifice or she will destroy us. That year she chose my younger brother, Mori, to be her sacrifice."   
He swallowed a bit. "I volunteer in his place, hoping to kill the oni. We arrange for some men to hide in the forest near the altar, and they will attack her and distract her before she can take me away to her lair. Mori is... was one of those men.   
"When the day comes, she accepts me and picks me up, dragging me off... I struggle but can not get free. Only one of the men jump out as planned and shoots an arrow at the oni. She stops then, and turns around. Mori is standing there, yelling. He is... jealous of me. He wants to kill the oni himself... I can't believe what I am hearing.   
"Mori shoots an arrow at me as I am hanging from the oni's claws. She moves aside and takes it herself, but it doesn't hurt her. She kills him, my brother, and then takes me away, deep into the forest. She appears to me as a woman, and says her name is Silver. She says she has great plans for me if I am strong enough to survive. If I am not, my bones will join those of the rest of my clan and she will take another sacrifice the next year."   
Dayus's good eye pierced into his, and his voice grew softer and more intense. "She tells me of the power she can give me. I can change my shape and create images, illusions to deceive the eye and soul. And I want this, more than I want to kill her, or free myself. She can give this to me, if I can do two things. I must lose an eye... I think this is not so bad a price for such power. But then she says I must kill one of my own blood... I must kill my own son for her to... eat."   
Sekhmet stared at him, not saying a word. _Could I do it? If it was asked of me, could I kill my own child to gain such power? Yes,_ he decided suddenly, _yes, I could._   
"You do not see," Dayus said sadly, watching the play of emotion on his face. "I cannot do this thing she asks. She will not give me food unless I agree. I refuse again and again, even when I am starving. Finally she must bring me the carcass of a deer to eat if I am to survive. She thinks I have much promise and won't let me go so soon. It is raw, but I eat it anyway. She will not bring me another. And then it starts again. I am starving, going to die."   
He closed his eye briefly before continuing. "But I don't want to die."   
"You did it?" Sekhmet asked, tightening his grip on Dayus's wrists. "Yes, you must have. You have your power..."   
He nodded sickly. "I did," he whispered. "When I am well again she brings a child to me, stolen from my village. I see that the child is a girl, not mine, and I say so. But she shows me an image of my home, my wife... she has borne a daughter to me while I have been imprisoned, and to the oni the blood of girls is more powerful than that of boys.   
"I do it. I slit her throat and offer her to the oni. I am crying, I think, but the promise of power is too great in my mind... when she is finished the oni says that I must pay the rest of the price. She spins thread and then changes into human form, holding me down. She sews my eye closed, and it hurts, as if I had a gotten a sword through it. I scream and thrash and almost die. I wish I had died, for after I can only do the oni's will and none of my own. I can not remember anything at all of before.   
"I lure people to her, for her to eat and practice her arts upon. I use my powers, they think I am ill, and when they come near they are caught. She lets them loose and hunts them in her caves, and I go along sometimes... I will do anything for her, anything." Dayus almost choked on the words. "They see me, I am human, and they think I will help. They hope... but then they scream as I... I..." He gasped and tried futilely to pull away. "I cannot do this anymore!"   
The last syllable faded into silence, and Sekhmet stared at him, Dayus looking back, for a long minute. He was almost stunned, not knowing what to think, deciding that it didn't really matter anyway.   
A tremor ran through the wilderness, the air growing thick and leaden. He looked around quickly and then back at Dayus, who was merely standing there calmly. One corner of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile.   
"She comes."   
There was a huge crashing noise as bushes and small trees were knocked over from the force of the oni's passage. She crashed into the area, incredibly angry because her spell had been broken. The air around her was dense and heavy with rage. She was shaped like a gigantic spider, the spiny hairs around her mandibles stained red.   
Sekhmet moved back a step but resisted the urge to draw his swords. The oni paused a moment, turning her many eyes to Dayus. He looked at her, and something unseen seemed to pass between them.   
"No, Silver, you can control me no longer!" Dayus suddenly shouted at her, clenching his fists. "I belong to you _no more_!" With a quick gesture, the form of another huge spider was there in front of him. He sent it running at the oni. "See, I can even use your own powers against you!"   
She fought the illusion-become-reality furiously, finally tearing through it. It wavered and disappeared into a cloud of mist. Silver spoke in her own language, looking between Dayus and Sekhmet. Dayus winced in pain and darted back quickly, a hand on his head. A loud, high-pitched roar filled the air as she turned and charged at Sekhmet.   
He did draw his swords then, shouting, "Now's your chance, Dayus! You can have your revenge for what she made you do!" The white-haired man nodded, rolling smoothly out of the beast's way and over to where the two long halves of the chain talisman lay forgotten on the ground. He swept one up and ran back over, leaping and climbing onto the oni's back as she was preoccupied with her attack, clutching the long insectile hairs.   
She shook herself, roaring in annoyance, but Dayus clung tenaciously, climbing up to right behind the place where her head was attached to her body. Sekhmet pressed forward, nicking her, the venom from his sword blade smoking in the wound. The oni screamed, lowering her head and racing forward. He evaded, leaping away easily, and when she stopped Dayus leaned out, raising the chain.   
He swung it down and up, catching the end and fiercely twisting it tight, his jaw clenched. Silver writhed, trying to desperately to shake him loose. Dayus pulled the chain tighter and tighter. Suddenly the oni's legs gave out beneath her great body and she fell, rolling to the side. Dayus jumped away to keep from being crushed, but as soon as she was down he came back and grabbed the ends of the chain again.   
Sekhmet watched, getting his breath back, watched as the huge spider slowly departed. And then it was over, her dead legs still kicking spasmodically. Dayus pulled the chain away from her and dropped it, standing next to the body and staring at it for a long time. _It's been too long to be good for him, _Sekhmet resolved after a few minutes, striding up to Dayus and grabbing his elbow. He blinked at him, and then Sekhmet teleported them both.   
He felt a wave of satisfaction as they landed outside a large town, exactly where he wanted to be. Sekhmet, deciding that it wasn't worth it to terrify the people at the moment, sent away his armor, banishing it into a deep green crystal. The robes he wore now were very expensive, those of a samurai lord.   
He smiled and pocketed the crystal, turning to gaze at Dayus. The other man was looking around at the town in shock, staring as people began to exit the gates and more began to appear from further down the road.   
Sekhmet made himself be patient with him. _Remember, he hasn't been to a town in however long it's been, _he told himself, pulling Dayus forward, entering the town like he owned it. _The thing now is to get him looking human again._   
The two strange-looking young men moving through town generated many stares and comments. Children followed after them, whispering to each other. He merely ignored them, wishing he could rid himself of them but not willing to risk it while they still needed something from these annoying humans. The inn he spotted was closed for the day, but he burst through the door nonetheless, Dayus in tow.   
The proprietor was sitting at a table, bending over some papers, and his family and workers were scattered around the establishment, tending to their chores. They all looked up, shocked, as he entered, shutting the door to keep out prying eyes. The innkeeper looked as if he was about to protest, but Sekhmet glared at him, overwhelming him, and he drew back.   
"Get him cleaned up," Sekhmet commanded, shoving a confused Dayus forward. He tossed some coins at the innkeeper. "And get me a drink while I'm waiting."   
"Oh, um, yes, of course, my lord." Flustered, the proprietor nodded and bowed, ushering Dayus out of the room as one of his staff poured the sake. Sekhmet sat at a table, sipping it, and waited. They were all afraid of him, for the usual reasons, but it felt different this time. This time their fear was sweet, tasted better to him than the rice wine he was drinking did.   
When Dayus returned, Sekhmet hardly recognized him. The long waves of his hair had been cut back to his shoulders and combed out, and he was wearing clean robes. _Probably the best the innkeeper owns,_ Sekhmet thought, noting sourly that despite the white hair and sewn-up eye the proprietor's wife was looking at him invitingly. He gestured Dayus to a seat across from him, ordering a drink for him and sending everyone else out of the room. The man was much calmer, drinking his wine, memory in his eye.   
"I'm remembering this, too," he said. "Towns and inns and people... women..." He glanced back at the door the others had gone through.   
"You _do_ know why I have done this, yes?" Sekhmet asked, leaning forward.   
Dayus nodded slowly. "Talpa... the Dynasty. He wants me to join it." He sounded unsure, however. "Why?"   
"It's your destiny," he said, "the same way mine was. There's no way to escape it, you know. And besides, what's to escape? Talpa's giving you power, and glory, and immortality."   
"For what price?" Dayus reached up to touch his eye briefly. "All power has a price."   
"You must live in the Nether realm and serve Master Talpa," Sekhmet shrugged. "Beyond that, nothing."   
"This sounds too good to be true."   
"Think about it. You'd still be with the oni if it weren't for Talpa. The armor you will receive gets its power from him, and his power is limitless. He will rule this world soon... is it not better to go with the winning side than to live and die a powerless slave?"   
"I will think about it," Dayus said cautiously, tapping his fingers on the table.   
Sekhmet nodded and stood. "You do that. Talpa will know your answer." He reached into a sleeve and drew out a small sack of money, tossing it at the other man. He caught it reflexively, glancing down at it and then back up.   
He moved a little ways away from the table, preparing to teleport. "Oh, and Dayus?" he said just before he left. Dayus looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really should get something to cover that eye." 

Dayus joined the Dynasty two days later. Sekhmet and Anubis stood near the demon lord's throne, watching as he entered the room for the first time, crossing to the throne and immediately kneeling. _Talpa was right,_ he thought. _We _are _destined to wear these armors._   
The yoroi Dayus wore was spider-shaped, six naginatas arranged on his back. As he stood and glanced back at them, Sekhmet could see that the helmet was vaguely spidery as well. Dayus pledged his service, already looking comfortable in his new surroundings.   
As the days passed on, he saw that the new Warlord of Deception was a completely different person than the man he had met in the forest. Cold, composed, there was nothing about him to suggest he had ever been anything else.   
He was civil toward the two other Dark Warlords, although something in his manner toward Sekhmet was a bit different. He had seen Dayus at his worst, and that made both of them feel as if he had an advantage.   
The three of them had taken to spending time in the large library-like room, having nothing else to do. Sekhmet sat in a chair away from the others, idly fiddling with a blank piece of paper and wishing for perhaps a little action. Anubis and Dayus sat closer to the blue-flamed fire, having a conversation, and he listened to them talk.   
Anubis had a book in front of him, and he tapped at certain passages as he spoke. "But we had our revenge," he was saying, "rather similar to the one described here. We... _suggested_ to the man that he kill himself honorably and not suffer the humiliation at being defeated by one so much younger." Dayus nodded. It was a common practice to force someone to commit seppuku, one of the most honorable ways to die. "He relented," Anubis continued, "and-"   
Sekhmet was tuning him out, not really interested in tales, when a word caught in his mind. _Revenge_. Several images surfaced along with almost forgotten pain: the bloody body of a brown-haired woman on the ground, the cheers and the whip and the stones and the blood...   
He stood up suddenly, Anubis and Dayus glancing at him. "Revenge!" he said, mind working quickly. _What do I need to do before they die? _The others were looking at him questioningly, but he merely teleported out of the room. He needed to prepare. 

The sky ahead was the darkening purple-gray of dusk, barely seen through the thick canopy of trees. Sekhmet stood on the outskirts of the Dark Sister, the low hill protected from view by a thick layer of leaves. The group of soldiers he'd taken with him stood still as statues at the bottom of the hill, waiting for his commands. Only one of them stood next to him - he'd made sure he had one with the intelligence to pass as a human.   
He turned to the soldier and used his armor's power to create a brief image, showing it to the soldier. The illusion was blurry but the intention was clear, and it understood immediately who it was to find. Sekhmet let the image of the man go, sighing a bit heavily.   
Unlike Dayus, who could create images as easily as he breathed, he had to work at it. Absently he resolved to practice that as he concentrated. Slowly but surely, the gray-armored soldier wavered and changed, appearing to all outside views as an average, nondescript human traveler. When he was finished, the soldier turned and left, walking toward the town. He watched a bit nervously and was relieved to see that the image held.   
Sekhmet waited a bit impatiently for the soldier's return, looking around at the familiar surroundings. It was nearly springtime here on Earth, another mild winter passing into life and renewal. He tapped his fingers on the hilt of one of the swords at his waist, pausing as his gaze caught on a hollow near the bottom of the hill.   
_There's where the clan throws the bodies of the dead who do not deserve burial,_ he thought, unconsciously clenching the sword hilt. He had gone there once as a child, wandered among the bleached bones of other outcasts. _I would have ended there, and I know that Lyonta's bones are there now, too. _Her name stayed fresh in his mind, although the memory of her face was beginning to fade. He let go of the sword and began to pace. _The consort of a demon would not be allowed to rest with the heroes of the town. They just dumped her there without ceremony, while her twice-cursed father was likely buried with honor in hallowed ground!_   
"They will get what they give," he muttered, turning back as two figures left the road close by and began to walk toward him. "Every single one will lie unburied by sunrise, and my revenge will be complete. Every single one!" he vowed, suddenly standing still. Two men climbed to the top of the hill, and Sekhmet gestured. The illusion faded instantly, the soldier nodding at him.   
The other man jumped back in surprise, looking like a rabbit suddenly trapped in a snare. "What - who..." he blurted, staring at Sekhmet. He removed his helmet, dropped it to the ground.   
"Hello, Datai," Sekhmet said. "Surely you remember me, old friend."   
The blonde man was pale. "Sekhmet!" he exclaimed. "How - what happened to you?"   
"Nothing I choose to explain," he responded. "Know only that I am now a Dark Warlord of the Dynasty." He paused a moment as shock washed across the other man's face. "So, tell me, Datai, did you ever get married?"   
"Well, yes," he sputtered, "but I hardly see-"   
Sekhmet cut him off with a gesture. "Bring your wife to me." Datai looked as if he was about to protest, but he merely kept on speaking. "And children, if you have them."   
"But, Sekhmet!" He gestured weakly. "What... what are you going to do?"   
The Warlord's face was as still as marble. "If you wish them to live, you will bring them." Datai grew even more pale, shaking. Slowly, he folded his arms, eyes wide with realization, and bowed. Sekhmet laughed softly. "You haven't changed, have you? Go now and return as quickly as you can. Take nothing with you. If I see anything out of the usual happening in the town, I will assume you have spoken of my presence and I will kill your family, Datai, and then I will kill you. Understand?"   
He nodded, took a few deep breaths to steel himself, and quickly ran off. Sekhmet shook his head. He was taking a risk in sending Datai back alone, but he didn't think he had enough energy to cloak the soldier again. _I don't want them to have any warning._   
He did not have to wait long for him to come back, accompanied by a young woman carrying a small boy. Sekhmet frowned when he saw her. She looked too familiar, but frustratingly he couldn't place her. Her hair was dark orange and long, her eyes huge and black. She was wearing a robe of white, shrinking back against her husband.   
"Well, you must introduce us, Datai," he said finally, meeting her eyes with his own. She shivered but did not look away.   
"You don't remember?" he said hoarsely. "This is your sister, Jynavy. We were married two, almost three years ago. We have a son, Akemi." He waved a hand at the sleeping boy.   
Sekhmet blinked, looking at her even more closely. All he remembered was a girl, a small child clinging to his mother's skirts. "Ah, yes. You resemble your father," he said darkly. She frowned, holding Akemi closer. "Greetings, sister," he hailed sardonically, bowing. "You are quite the lucky girl! Only the fact that you are married to my only living friend has saved your life."   
"I remember you, too," she said quietly, staring up at him.   
He began to pace again. It was almost time. "You were too young," he told her.   
"No... I remember a whipping." He glared at her, and she flinched but didn't stop speaking. "There have been others since then, but I remember yours because you were so quiet. Mother wouldn't let me speak of you, Sekhmet. She used to cry... she loved you."   
"Lies," he spat. "I will believe that cold-hearted bitch loved me when I believe that Datai here will grow wings and fly away. She will die with the others. You, however, will live. I give my word."   
Tears ran from Jynavy's eyes, and she wiped them away with her free hand, shaking her head. "Please don't do this," Datai asked him, holding her close. "Please, Sekhmet, don't do this."   
"I will do what I please," he responded. There was a sudden scuffling among the soldiers below, and he spun to look down at them. One dragged up to him an old woman, holding her above the ground by her robe.   
"Spy," it croaked, dropping her to the ground. She struggled to her feet, old legs shaking, white hair thin and sparse.   
"Seer?" Datai said in amazement. "What are you doing here?"   
"Yes," Sekhmet hissed, "what _are_ you doing here, old one?"   
The little seer woman stood directly in front of him, looking up with no fear at all. When she saw Datai and his family she began to cackle in glee, pointing at them. Mirth shook her frame so violently she threatened to fall over. She addressed the Warlord, still pointing at his sister and her husband. "The Five Mistakes!" she laughed. "You and your comrades, immortal one, have, are, and will make five mistakes that lead to the downfall of your Dynasty! No halt, no pause, to turning back is there now!"   
Sekhmet was not in the mood for games. He drew two swords, pointing them at her. "Explain yourself, prophet," he demanded. "Explain yourself well."   
"Please, no," Jynavy said, shifting the sleeping form of her son. "She's crazy, Sekhmet, she doesn't know what she's saying!"   
The seer giggled, leveling her finger directly at Akemi. "Floating amongst the eyes of the ages," she intoned, "unmoored in the stream of the sky!" She looked straight at him and laughed.   
Almost nonchalantly, he said, "That's not good enough." Taking one step forward, he raised a sharp blade and sliced through the old prophet. Even as she crumpled to the ground her laughter rang in his ears. Jynavy screamed, waking her son. He turned abruptly as the boy began to cry, blood from his sword spattering his sister.   
"Shut the child up," he said coldly, "or I will do it for you." As Datai took her, shaking, in his arms and quieted Akemi, Sekhmet looked at the seer's body on the ground, strangely bothered by her words. _What if she spoke the truth? What if I _am_ making a mistake by sparing them?_ He glared at them, bending and picking up his helmet. _But I have given my word I will spare them, and I will not go back on it now._ He placed it on his head, gesturing for the soldiers.   
"It is time," he said, ignoring Jynavy's sobs. Leaving a soldier to watch Datai and the others, he stood at the front of the husk-armors. Just as he focused, however, Sekhmet heard a rustle and spun around. The soldier that remained readied its weapon.   
He saw what startled the soldier; a woman was approaching on a black horse. _Another intruder? _he wondered angrily. She stopped it and looked surprised. The Dark Warlord walked up to her. "Bad timing, traveler." He looked out the corner of his eye to glance at Datai and Jynavy. Both stayed in place. Then he returned his gaze to the woman.   
Her dress was sort of odd. She wore a robe of green, blue and white. Hanging from the saddle was a white staff with a circle on top. He locked his gaze on her face with a hard look. It was obvious by those features what she was and why she came to the village. _A gaijin. I had heard some of them were near this area._   
The woman just looked back at him. Oh, how he wished she turned away or did something of the sort. No. Her blue eyes just gazed at him without rejection or disgust. He tried to figure out what she was up to. What was in those eyes? Sorrow? "If you value your life, you'll leave now. I may not be granted another chance to spare your life."   
She nodded in response as she gripped together the reins of her horse. The woman joined Jynavy and her husband. "Do you need a guide?"   
The soldier lifted its weapon again, but Sekhmet raised a hand. "Take them away from here if you wish, but never return." He locked gazes with the small group. "Any of you." The woman nodded again as she got down and offered her horse to Jynavy to ride with her child. As the Dark Warlord watched, he still felt a bit puzzled at the gaijin.   
He waited until they were away, passing through the outskirts of the forest to reach the road. When they were out of sight he went again to the head of the soldiers, shaking his head in irritation, and teleported them all without a backward glance.   
They appeared in the middle of the village, and immediately Sekhmet sent two soldiers to seal the gate, and two more to guard the holes in the wall he knew were there. The few people still outside were shocked, not recognizing him in the armor. He raked his eyes quickly across the buildings, fixing on a large house. He pointed at that one, and all the rest of the soldiers sprung into action, herding people off the streets and out of their homes, dragging them into the building.   
The air was filled with the sound of screaming and sobbing as the mass of humanity was pushed into the house, some of them resisting, but not for long. The soldiers killed anyone who attacked them, taking their weapons, and soon there was no more fighting back. There were shouts of "Why us?" and "What are you here for?" and "What are you doing?", but Sekhmet stood still at the door of the house, not deigning to answer any of them.   
Soon every single member of his clan stood in the house, and Sekhmet followed them in, accompanied by soldiers. A few people were hysterical, sobbing and shouting, but for the most part they were silent. He gestured, and the door was closed, gray-armored soldiers immovably barring the way.   
Sekhmet surveyed the faces of the people, looking for a certain few. His revenge just wouldn't be the same if they had already died. But they were there, and he smiled in satisfaction.   
His grandfather, Faimbril, was still alive, although it looked as if he was on his last legs. His mother was there as well, supporting him, and he found two particular members of the clan's warriors still alive. The memories had been violently sparked as soon as he had set foot inside the walls, and he recalled the pain of their rocks against his bleeding, torn back very vividly.   
He pointed at the four of them, and soldiers obediently dragged them before him, prompting more screams and wails of dismay. "Who are you? Why are you here?" a man cried, and Sekhmet let them see his face briefly.   
"It's only been twelve years," he said. "Surprise on the faces of children I can understand, but I find it hard to believe your memories are so bad that you've forgotten me already. Greetings, Mother," he said, nodding at Rielvia. "Aren't you pleased to see me again?"   
She blanched, saying nothing as the others edged away from her, suddenly reminded she was a demon's mother. "But, no! You're dead! You... you have to be dead!" Faimbril protested.   
_That's probably what he told them back then,_ Sekhmet thought. _He's trying to save face now... he may be old, but he's not stupid._ "Hardly," he laughed. "I can't die. I'm a demon, remember?"   
A woman, kneeling on the ground, wailed. "The demon has returned to eat our souls!"   
He waited for all the yelling to die down before speaking again. "There you're right. I've come to take my vengeance for what you did to me, and for what you did to _her_." He nodded as eyes grew wide, as looks of realization washed over their pale faces. "Yes, you remember that, don't you? At least you won't die without knowing why your lives have to end. That should be a comfort."   
He turned to Rielvia as the others pleaded for mercy, pleaded to be spared, their begging voices enjoyable in his ears. When they saw he wasn't listening to them they slowly grew quiet, held back by soldiers, watching to see what he would do next.   
He looked at his mother standing there in her threadbare nightrobe, long hair now turning gray, wrinkles etching her face. "You haven't aged well, Mother," he said. "Is your money running out? Will no one sleep with you anymore? Every man in this town knows what your body looks like by now. But they aren't desperate enough to have you with wrinkles and spots, are they?"   
She was turning red, keeping from meeting anyone's gaze. "Shall I tell them more, Mother? Shall I tell them that Ayaken was human and not my father at all? Shall I tell them how you and Viraz accused him so he'd be out of your way?" Those old enough to remember Ayaken looked shocked, and Sekhmet chuckled, enjoying himself. "No? Well then, have you anything to say for yourself now?"   
She glared up at him, tears blurring her black eyes. "I wish you'd never been born," she gritted, clenching her fists. "I wish I'd drowned you like Viraz wanted."   
He reached up and very slowly drew the snake-headed swords on his back, letting her hear the whisper of metal on metal. "So do I," he said softly, moving forward. "I was the one who killed him, you know."   
Her face grew hard. "I knew. I knew it."   
He came closer. "You are blind, Mother. I want you to know that. You are blind and now you are dead!" He raised the swords as she cowered back, thrusting both of them downward into her chest. She screamed, trying to scramble away, and he yanked the blades out, watching her fall. She convulsed, gasping, and slowly grew still.   
Someone in the crowd was praying, over and over, but the rest of them were shocked, transfixed. Sekhmet moved over to the two men, killing them as well. He saved Faimbril for last.   
The leader of the clan had been old when Sekhmet was born, and he was ancient now, in his eighties. Faimbril was terrified, shaking and wetting himself, and yet all Sekhmet could see was his smirk as he ordered the whipping, ordered it to begin again, and again and again...   
He paused, deciding. He had been taught to kill quickly, to end the suffering as quickly as possible, but here he didn't want to. _I want it to be as slow, as painful, as it was for me,_ he thought, raising one sword. And he knew just how to do it, thanks to the armor his master had given him.   
He laughed with amusement no one else could understand and struck Faimbril with his sword, sending up a cloud of red-colored venom. It ate away at the man's unprotected skin, his shrill screams filling the air as he fell to the ground, twisting wildly.   
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Sekhmet asked, standing above him. A strange surge of power ran through him as he watched the man die, and he gripped his swords, looking up at the others. Whatever was reflected in his eyes caused them to shrink back, and suddenly he gestured the soldiers away and behind him.   
A golden color throbbed in his head as the swirl of power rose, three words burning into his mind. Without even knowing how, or why, he swung his swords together, melding them in the air, and reached for the next pair, and the next, holding them together in front of him.   
As he grasped a hilt they ran together in a glowing yellow-gold arc, and he swung it above his head like a whip. "Snake Fang Strike!" he bellowed, cracking the energy down into the crowd. There was an instant eruption of screaming as the sword-whip crashed through them, and the smell of seared flesh filled the air. And when the haze of the power had cleared from his mind, he saw that almost all of them had been killed.   
_Such power... I have never felt anything like it! But... can I do that again, or was it something I can't control? _Sekhmet frowned at that thought, breathing heavily, looking around at the room. The walls as well as the people were scorched with energy. But not everyone was dead.   
He pulled a torch from the wall, ordering the soldiers out. He set fire to the walls of the building as he left the room, barring the door. As soon as he was sure it was ablaze, he ran through the town, feeling no fatigue, setting everything burnable alight. Houses, stables, fields, everything catching and rising in a hot uncontrollable flame.   
When he was satisfied, he teleported himself back to the hill, sending the soldiers back to the Netherworld, not needing them anymore. _The fire might catch in the forests, _he thought offhandedly. _It might burn forever..._   
The fire stayed contained, though, and he stood, unmoving, on the hill until dawn. He simply stared at the flames until they burned themselves out, feeling no hunger or exhaustion because of the armor. When he took it off, he would feel it, but for now Sekhmet was content to stand in one place for hours and watch a valley die.   
It was almost light when the blaze subsided, smoking ash all that was left of the area. Slowly he walked down, not wasting the effort of teleporting, past the charred gateposts and ruined houses. He paused a moment, not bothering to look up, as Dayus suddenly appeared in full armor.   
He pulled off his helmet, shaking his hair free. Dayus glanced distastefully around at the mess. "Was all this really necessary?"   
"Of course it was," Sekhmet replied, moving on to the remains of the building where he had found his power. Dayus walked next to him, frowning as he looked around. They entered the area. There were a few ash-shapes identifiable as burnt bodies and nothing more. Everything else in the house had been destroyed; blistered, twisted pieces of metal the clan's only legacy.   
Sekhmet surveyed his handiwork and smiled, looking down at one of the shapes. "Dayus, I'd like you to meet my mother," he said gleefully. The Warlord of Deception glanced down automatically but said nothing, disapproval on his face. Sekhmet poked it with his toe. "Life is so fragile," he sighed as it crumbled into merely another heap of ash.   
Dayus looked pointedly at the vague figure of a mother crouched over her child, trying to protect it. "Did you really have to kill all of them?" he asked, trying to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Some of them weren't even born when you left, Sekhmet."   
"Are you trying to tell me it's wrong to kill? And here I thought I was being helpful and reducing the population." He gave a mocking sob. "Oh, Dayus, you're breaking my heart!"   
"I meant nothing of the kind. What is wrong with you?"   
He turned to gaze into the Dark Sister, feeling a bit strange. He wanted to run the ash through his fingers, toss it in the air- _Perhaps there _is_ something wrong with me. _"I did it, Dayus," he said with wonder in his voice. "I found my power! It's like nothing I could ever describe... just three words, _three words_, and... the energy, the power..." He trailed off, unable to say anything else.   
Dayus cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I have come because you have not answered Master Talpa's summons. The man I have invited to join the Dynasty is about to accept now. We are to be there when he arrives."   
Sekhmet half-turned to look back at him. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" he said with a smirk, still affected by the rush of power. "We mustn't keep Master Talpa waiting." He teleported immediately, chuckling at the exasperated look on Dayus's face as he, and the ashes, faded from view. 

And so Matsuyama Cale joined the Dynasty and became a Warlord. He, too, seemed to adapt well to the life in Talpa's stronghold. He learned to teleport almost right away - definitely not a mark in his favor, in Sekhmet's opinion - but almost kept to himself, not speaking much of what had happened before he had accepted Talpa's offer of eternal life and eternal power.   
The other three were much the same way, Anubis especially. Sekhmet knew less about him than he did about Cale. Apparently the Warlord of Corruption had been a ninja, a warrior of the night. Seeing as he was the wearer of the Armor of Darkness, it only fit, further proving to Sekhmet that they had been destined for their yoroi.   
But he said nothing about the cause of the scar he had over his left eye, strangely shaped like a sword. One more mystery, but one Sekhmet didn't really care to solve. They were content to let each other have his secrets, keeping one's own counsel. Together but separate, the four Dark Warlords were independent pieces working for the same goal.   
And it seemed to Sekhmet that the goal was being achieved much too slowly. He wanted to do something, anything, except practice and sit around doing nothing. So when they were called by Talpa to the throne room, he was the first to appear. Others of his master's servants, secondary servants, he assured himself, stood in the shadows, hidden but watching. What Talpa was going to tell them was for their ears as well.   
Cale and Anubis arrived almost simultaneously, and they stood in front of the throne, waiting for Dayus to show up. He didn't show. And Talpa was getting angry. "Where is he?" Talpa boomed. "He is not in the Dynasty!"   
Anubis stepped forward. "Shall I go after him, Master? It seems he has gone down to Earth."   
Talpa looked as if he was about to agree when Cale held up a red-armored hand. "Wait," he said, and a second later Sekhmet felt it too. The air shivered and Dayus appeared. He took one look at the demon lord, his eyes flaming red with anger, and dropped to a knee before the throne.   
"Forgive, me, Master, for not answering your summons," he said quickly. "But I have found my power, and was unable to return so suddenly."   
There was a slight pause, and then the red glow died down. "Ahh, Dayus, that is a different matter. Very well. But I shall not tolerate any more lateness from _any_ of you."   
They bowed, Dayus rising to his feet and stepping back next to Sekhmet. He could see the power in the other man's eye, the almost dazed expression on his face. _I must have looked like that,_ he said to himself. _Such a feeling, like I could destroy the world without a thought. _He half-smiled and returned his attention to his master.   
"You wish for something to do. I have jobs for you. Bring her!" he snapped, and immediately two soldiers pulled into the room a girl of about ten years of age. Her dark blue eyes were wide as she stared at them, but somehow they were dull and unalert.   
A strange gloating tone came into Talpa's voice. "This is Kayura," he told them. "She was taken from Earth sixteen years ago. She can command a great power, and she will use it to serve me."   
"But how can a child serve you, even if she does have power?" Cale asked skeptically.   
Talpa laughed. "She will not be a child always," he responded. "It is easier to turn a child to darkness than one who is grown. I shall let her grow as a reward for loyalty. She can be turned, and will be. In the meantime, your assignment is to seek out other children with inherent magical powers and bring them here."   
"Yes, Master," the Warlords chorused, bowing. Thay accepted the assignment gladly - _anything_ to break the monotony. Sekhmet had a feeling they would have agreed to mucking out stables, if Talpa had told them to.   
"How will we know where to find them?" Anubis questioned.   
"I know the locations of a few, but some are hidden. The armor will help you. You will know if the child has power." He laughed again briefly. "I have an important task to assign to one of you. I have not decided who I will award the... honor to, yet, but know the task now. This one I do not want brought back to me. This one I want exterminated." The screen behind them glowed brightly, and they all turned to look.   
"This is the one I want you to go after." The viewscreen focused in on a dirt path. It came in closer to see a woman on a black horse. Soon her face was seen. Sekhmet internally gasped, though his outside features were as stone. It was the same woman whose life he had spared before.   
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other minions of Talpa gathered. Yes, Talpa had not chosen yet who would best suit this job. He hoped his master would not insult them by choosing one of the minor servants. "She has caused me problems in the past. I have sent minions after her to no avail."   
_How could _she_ cause problems? Well, let me just count myself very lucky that Talpa didn't see me spare her life. Still, I must see what's so important about her for myself, somehow._

"Food! Food! Please!"   
"Go away! You'll find nothing here!"   
A small boy in dirty and ragged clothes stood at the door to a building. His limbs were small and his very small blue eyes looked at the man in the doorway. "Please! I am starving!"   
"Well, starve someplace else!"   
Someone cocked their head, overhearing the conversation. The person walked up to the scene. "Here," a woman's voice said as she gave a bag to the boy. He opened it to find some berries inside.   
The man grabbed the woman's right wrist. "What do you think you are doing, _gaijin_?" She pulled away her arm with more force than the man expected, and turned back her attention to the boy. "Just because you gaijins come here to teach your religion does _not_ mean you can do whatever you want!"   
She stood up again and faced the man. "I may be a gaijin, but I know how to treat people. What you do to this boy is cruel beyond words. What if _your_ child was starving?"   
"This is a demon! Can you not see that? Oh, but what am I saying? You are a demon too, _gaijin_! So go ahead!" He waved them away. "I'm sure you two will be _perfect_ together!"   
The woman picked up and carried the boy. She faced the man with a hard look in her blue eyes. "At least I know the true meaning of the word 'honor'." With that she turned and walked away, orange-red hair swaying with the motion. She walked a distance before reaching her horse. She shortened the stirrups and put the boy in the saddle.   
"Know how to ride a horse?" The boy shook his head no as he munched on a berry. "Well then, I'll fix that." She smiled at him as she took the reins and walked with her horse. "Hold a bit of the reins and the mane and you'll be fine." The boy did as instructed with his free hand. The woman kept the pace as slow and steady as possible for him, knowing he needed the rest. "What's your name?"   
"Kyokazu."   
"Well, Kyokazu, do you have any parents?" She had already guessed the answer before he shook his head no.   
"What is your name?"   
"Mine?" She looked puzzled for a second, not expecting the boy to ask. "Unacera."   
"Unacera? What is a... gai... gai..."   
"Gaijin? It means barbarian. It's the name given to us who are not from this land."   
"You are not from here? You from another town?"   
She chuckled. "No. Farther away then that. Across the ocean. I come from some place over there."   
"Really? Can I go there?"   
"Do you want to?"   
"Uh huh."   
"Well promise me to eat, drink, be healthy and behave and we'll see, all right?" Unacera turned and smiled at him.   
"All right. I promise." Kyokazu munched on another handful of berries. "What is it like where you are from?"   
"The land is very green, and we speak another language."   
"Language?"   
"Yes. It's what you speak. Let me give you an example." Unacera began speaking in words the boy did not understand. "That is my language from where I come from."   
The boy just looked stunned. "Can I learn your language?"   
She looked back to the boy and smiled again. "We'll see." The woman led her black horse out of town.   
A man in a strange green and red armor just silently watched the whole scene that unfolded from afar. 

The finding of magic-users soon evolved into a kind of contest between the Warlords, as each of them tried to find the most magical children. Anubis was winning in that respect, having already brought back three as compared to the others' one. They were simply placed in a dungeon with some of Talpa's minor servants. There they were to be turned to Talpa's will, and the Warlords were not concerned with that part of it.   
Sekhmet, however, was not very enthusiastic about it. Each time he went to Earth with the intent of hunting down and finding a child for his master, his thoughts turned back to _that woman_. What was she doing? She had rescued a boy, fed him when he was starving, but why? Was the boy magical? Was she trying to keep him from the Dynasty?   
And so, he decided, when his teleporting landed him near the place she and the boy had stopped to rest, he wouldn't be disobeying orders at all. If the child had power, Sekhmet would take him. And if the gaijin woman died in the process, so much the better.   
  
The snake moved across the branches on the floor of the woods. Then it slithered up a tree. The slit eyes watched intently.   
"Here, I got some more berries. Eat all you wish."   
"Thank you." Kyokazu started eating as the woman watched. Then she sat back against a tree. "Are you having any?"   
"I'll have what's left after you finish." She clutched at her stomach and gave a little angered look at it. The woman sighed and closed her eyes.   
The snake moved down and closer to the two people. Sekhmet watched from up high. He took a deep breath. _Never did this to myself before._ Suddenly he felt the branch shake violently as a creature jumped on it. The Dark Warlord carefully watched it.   
At first it looked like a very large leopard. As it turned and laid down on the branch, though, the man noticed the wings folded on the sides. Sekhmet was more than uneasy, hoping his image over himself would hold. When the 'cat' didn't move after moments, he returned to the snake and its sight.   
The woman now held a harp and started playing a tune. Soon her voice accompanied it with a song. The man was reminded briefly of Cirian. Then he remembered what the seer said. _Is she one of the mistakes? She spoke of five. So one of us Dark Warlords is going to make more than one. I hope it's Anubis. _Sekhmet chuckled in his thoughts as he paid the song little heed. Then a lyric caught his attention. _The... the song! She's singing about me!_   
When she finished, Kyokazu looked at her. "That was pretty." The woman smiled at him and put her harp aside. The boy moved onto her lap and she held him.   
"We must get you better clothes. What's your favorite color, Kyokazu?"   
"Gold," he mumbled softly.   
"And why do you like gold?" After no answer came, she gazed down at the boy. "Kyokazu?" The boy was already fast asleep. She smiled for a moment, but soon it faded to a frown. A look of sadness came back to her. The woman held the boy lovingly as tears ran down her cheeks. Unacera lowered her head and sobbed softly.   
_Time to go. _As Sekhmet was about to call the snake away, he saw the woman pull out something. Whatever it was, it glowed as she held it in her right palm. The Dark Warlord could swear he could almost see, through the snake's eyes, a symbol glowing on her forehead. Sekhmet just dismissed it. _Doesn't matter,_ he thought. _I can't read anyway._   
As he shifted on the branch, the cat's ears perked up. Then they moved toward the back. Soon it got up and turned around to look in the man's direction. _That cat's too smart for its own good. _The strange winged leopard began to growl. Its green eyes locked on.   
"Dragon Wind? Dragon Wind, can you come here?" The cat's ears twitched. With a final growl it jumped off the branch. It dashed next to the woman. "Dragon Wind, go hunt some food for us tonight." The cat nodded and dashed off into the forest.   
_Dragon Wind? So that's its name. _He shrugged and then teleported away.   
  
Talpa once again wasn't pleased. It was a while since that last visit, and his master had sent another minion after the woman. What Talpa got in return was a severed head. The meeting had ended and Anubis teleported away along with several of the other people gathered. Sekhmet was about to do the same when he heard Dayus.   
"Clever."   
"What is?"   
"I found out that every minion so far sent after this woman has not been in Talpa's favor. Talpa's sending them out not only to find out how much skill she has, but to destroy his enemies. A unique way of control, indeed." Dayus teleported out of the room, leaving Sekhmet behind to wonder.   
He frowned at the implied insult. Was it so obvious that he had been following her, watching? He hadn't been _sent_, exactly, but if Dayus knew then Talpa must. He hadn't forbidden him to do it, though, but... how could he be out of Talpa's favor? He made a noise of frustration. _Dayus is just trying to confuse me!_   
Slowly a feeling crept up his nerves, a feeling that was becoming quite familiar. _Someone's using the gates. Maybe I'd better see what's happening. _He 'jumped' out of the castle, appearing near the innermost gate. It was just closing behind Cale, who was riding one of the purple-colored Dynasty horses. In his arms he held a struggling girl, one hand over her mouth.   
That explained it. The horses did _not_ like being teleported. Only Talpa could control them in that case. If you wanted to use a horse, you had to take the trouble of going through the gates.   
"Got another one, I see," Sekhmet said, watching as Cale dismounted and a soldier appeared to take the horse.   
Cale laughed suddenly, holding the red-haired girl up by her wrists, still keeping a hand over her mouth. She twisted, trying to pull away, and that made him laugh even more. "Yes, and what's more, I found my own powers doing so! It's indescribable! I mean, I can hardly-"   
"I know," he said irritably. No wonder he was in such a good mood. Being the last Warlord to join the Dynasty, he had been sort of pressured to catch up with the others. That he had; as far as Sekhmet knew, none of them had found their powers so quickly.   
Cale didn't mind the interruption. "Her family had hidden her, but I got one of them to tell me where she was by promising him power and a place in Talpa's service. He went for it in a second - you've never seen anyone turn so quickly! And then I felt it, and then..." He held the girl out suddenly. "Hold her for a moment," he said. "Keep her quiet. She's got quite a mouth."   
He took the girl's wrists in a hand, prepared to cover her mouth as Cale had done. She stopped struggling, however, keeping quiet, and he lifted her up to look at her. The girl appeared to be about eleven or twelve, her hair matching the color of the trickle of blood running down the side of her face._ She'll be beautiful when she's grown,_ he decided. _If Talpa lets her grow, that is. _"You have a name?" he asked abruptly.   
"Taia," she almost whispered. "Let me go!" He didn't reply, and suddenly she shrieked. "Ouch!" she said, her dark brown eyes wide, trying vainly to cover her ears while her hands were in the air. "Let me go! You're too loud! You're hurting my ears!"   
He scowled at her, thrusting her back at Cale as soon as the other Warlord had changed to his subarmor. "Too bad you got a crazy one," Sekhmet commented. "She's hearing things."   
As soon as she had been transferred Cale muffled her voice. "She may hear things," he smirked, "but when this little banshee starts screaming she's able to shock people and shoot energy from weapons." He shrugged. "She'll be useful, that's for sure."   
Sekhmet shook his head. "She'd better be. I don't think any of them will turn out to be anything useful, really."   
"Is that why you've only brought back one?"   
"No," he replied curtly, glowering. "I've found something better to hunt."   
"Oh, really?" Cale said, shifting the girl in preparation to teleport. She had given up struggling for the moment, staring at him with horror and fascination on her face.   
"Really."   
Cale looked at him for a moment as if judging his intentions, his eyes reflecting the glow of his new-found power. "Then perhaps I should wish you a good hunt." He left suddenly, and Sekhmet blinked, standing there just a moment before returning to the stronghold himself. 

"Favor or no, I will finish this," Sekhmet grumbled as he armored himself up. He stood in his chambers where he had been mediating for quite some time. "I'll find out the truth about that boy and gaijin now!"   
With that he teleported out of the chambers and to a town near where he last saw the woman, not caring what anyone thought or said or did. He grabbed the first person he saw. "You! Have you seen a gaijin woman with a little boy anytime around here?"   
The man nodded and barely stuttered a reply. His breath reeked of sake. His mind was apparently working as quickly as it could, but it wasn't quick enough. Sekhmet gave him a shake, which started him talking. "A-a few months b-back. They were said to be heading, ah, north!"   
"Thank you so _very_ much," he said sarcastically. The Dark Warlord dropped the man and teleported away. Sekhmet reappeared several miles north, jumping ahead a few times. He tracked down the route the gaijin had taken until he reached the outskirts of a town.   
A boy was looking around, wearing a mostly gold-colored kimono. Even though he had grown, the man still recognized him. "She left you. How foolish." His armor made a metallic noise on the ground, crushing grass blades beneath it. The boy gasped at both sounds and spun to look at the source. Sekhmet, too, shared a gasp.   
The young boy had blue and purple hair that went to his shoulders, straight and a bit messy. His face was still smooth and innocent. What held the Dark Warlord's interest, though, were his eyes. The boy's eyes were just like his, small and dark pupils. _Another one! I can't believe it! How... how many of us _are_ there? Why didn't I notice this before? Am I blind? _Sekhmet took off his helm.   
"You..." the boy stuttered, "you look like me!"   
"Do you know _what_ you are, boy?"   
He nodded. "Unacera told me. I'm half snake-god. That's why people don't like me. Well, except her."   
Sekhmet kneeled down on one leg. "What is your name?" He spoke in a more natural level and tone. Another face, faint but familiar nonetheless, swam into view of his mind's eye. _It was a girl, like him, like _us_... she died, I think... but I can't remember any more..._   
"Kyokazu." The boy looked quizzically at the man. "What's yours?"   
"Sekhmet." He held out a hand. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you." The boy shied away, frightened still.   
"So you come for innocent boys too?" a woman's voice said. Sekhmet spun, taking out the two katanas from his back in a quick fluid motion.   
"_Gaijin!_"   
"I knew you were following me before," she continued. "Why? For him? Or for me?"   
"Perhaps both," Sekhmet leered as he readied himself. The woman took out the nodachi she was holding and did the same. The two swords clanged together. The Dark Warlord tried to advance but they both stood ground. _Fine!_ He released some venom though his swords and delighted in the fact that it made her stumble backwards. His armor began to share in that amount of venom. It hissed and the grass blades around it dissolved quickly into nothing.   
"No!" Kyokazu ran between them. "Stop this!" He looked the man in the eyes. "Please don't kill her!"   
"And why not?"   
"Unacera's not our enemy! She helps our kind!"   
Sekhmet grunted in disbelief. "Only for her advantage, I bet."   
"No!" Kyokazu clung to the woman's left arm.   
"Stand aside!"   
"I won't!"   
Sekhmet briefly put down a sword and grabbed the boy roughly. As soon as he did, the boy screamed loudly. The Dark Warlord's eyes opened wide in surprise. He looked to see his armor hissing again and around Kyokazu's hand. The boy screamed more and more, tears running down his cheeks. The man let go, stunned.   
Kyokazu still screamed in pain and ran to Unacera's side. The woman knelt and briefly looked at the severely acid-burned hand. Then her gaze locked back onto Sekhmet and she reached under her shirt. She took out something in her left hand and touched it to Kyokazu's hand. The boy looked on, stunned, as the wound healed itself in short moments.   
"Get out of here, Kyokazu!" Unacera said sternly as she got back up and held two hands on her nodachi again.   
"But..."   
"_Go!_" she yelled. "Find Dragon Wind!" The boy nodded and rushed off.   
"Wait!" the man cried to the boy as he stepped forward. Sekhmet was about to follow Kyokazu when a nodachi hit his katana.   
"Leave him alone!"   
Sekhmet turned to her as he carefully and slowly reached to pick up the other katana he had placed down. His face went from a look of concern and confusion over the boy to sheer hatred and disgust. "You just made a very foolish move, gaijin."   
He jumped back and focused on his powers, all that he knew. Those three words burned in his mind again. This time though, Sekhmet cast an illusion on himself and used his mental abilities to control his other katanas. "Snake Fang Strike!" Six arms appeared and seemingly each held a deadly Snake Fang Sword. He charged and quickly struck out again and again, feinting and making advances.   
The woman backed up as she swung to avoid near blows. The Dark Warlord grinned even more widely as he watched. Finally one of them nicked her shoulder and she screamed. She tried to recover, and did for a while.   
Soon, though, she began to tire as strange red colored smoke poured a little from the cut. She kneeled and held a hand over the wound as a tear fell down her left cheek.   
Sekhmet placed a katana next to her neck. "Looks like you lose, gaijin." He laughed evilly. "After a few more cuts I think I'll be able to drag your unconscious body before my Master Talpa. Then I'll awaken you so you can kneel before him, right before I kill you."   
He leered down as he moved a bit closer to her face. "Trust me when I say that you'll not die peacefully." He slashed with his other katana and she bit back screams as he caused more acid-smoking wounds. "Finally, you'll be dead, Kyokazu will join the Dynasty as I have, and this world will bow before all of my Master's army!"   
Her face twisted in anger and another emotion as she tried futilely to push away and gain some ground. Sekhmet watched the expression on her face, identifying it. It was pity. The thought that _she_ should pity _him_ enraged him enough that he swung, hitting her head with the snake-shaped pommel of his sword. The accusing, pitying eyes closed and she went limp.   
He sheathed his sword in satisfaction. He had done it. He had captured the gaijin when the others could not. _Let's see what Dayus says about favor now,_ he thought as he took her unconsious form into his arms and teleported back to the Dynasty. 

Sekhmet pulled Unacera up by her long orange-red hair. The woman winced and awoke from her unconscious state. "...where?"   
"At death's door," Sekhmet answered with a laugh. He saw her gaze turn toward him. "Oh, don't worry, I told you I'd make sure you would suffer, and so you shall."   
He pulled on her hair again as he dragged her to a part of the dungeon. Then he pushed her against the far wall and touched a hand to the stone. The acid melted it and he formed it around her wrist. The Warlord then dealt with the other wrist. "I personally would love to see this wall turn to liquid and swallow you up, with you struggling futilely for breath."   
"Then why don't you?" the gaijin answered sternly.   
"So you aren't broken yet? You are more foolish than I ever imagined." He leaned his face into hers. "I await to see if Talpa has any specific torture in mind for you. I personally hope I get the honor to deal with you as I see fit." Sekhmet grinned evilly as the woman turned her face away. "He really hates you, you know. But then, so do I." The Dark Warlord laughed again.   
Unacera faced him again, her strangely-colored blue eyes gazing into him. "You truly are blind. Perhaps only the innocent like Kyokazu can see through Talpa's lies."   
Sekhmet laughed in return. "Innocent? Ha! We have captured many an 'innocent', and they shall all serve my Master."   
"And where is your place in your master's plans? Do you think he gives a damn about you?"   
"Talpa gives me power to destroy the world, and I shall gladly do so!"   
"So in the end you'll rule nothing. How quaint."   
The Dark Warlord angrily backhanded her face. He placed his hand around her throat and began to squeeze. "I rule over the barrier between life and death, and I can easily give you to death right now." Sekhmet found himself taking quite a bit of pleasure in torturing the gaijin and watching her struggle. Finally he let go, smiling at the red marks around her neck. "Your tongue will be silenced soon enough."   
"Nay. I shall live yet a long time, I guarantee. Truth can never be silenced."   
"And what is this 'truth', pray tell? Entertain me, gaijin. I used to listen to the 'truth' of those from your world, and they were all falsehoods."   
"The truth is that all you Warlords mean nothing to your master. All he cares about is to rule both worlds, and he will use you and your armors to do so! He only took you in so the power of the armor you wear would increase. It indeed is your destiny to have your armor, but this," she looked around, "is not your destiny."   
"I choose my own destiny, and I side with the winning side of power and immortality." Sekhmet stepped back. "I've had enough entertainment from you for now. I hope you enjoy your _very_ brief stay in my master's domain."   
With that Sekhmet grinned once more at the gaijin and turned, teleporting away. _Finally, I have her, and soon I shall have that boy she was protecting. Nothing can stop us._   
Sekhmet picked up the nodachi of the gaijin that he had left in the hallway. He examined it for a bit. _A woman who can wield such a weapon would be useful to Talpa. Too bad she chooses not to join us. Such a loss._   
When he came back from his thoughts, he noticed he had walked a distance. Cale's room was not far off. Sekhmet pondered for a moment, and then headed there. Upon reaching it, he knocked on the door.   
"Yes?"   
Sekhmet opened the door to find Cale meditating. "I wanted to thank you for wishing me a good hunt. Indeed, the hunt went well." He held up the nodachi.   
Cale looked up. "Isn't that...?"   
"The sword of the gaijin." He grinned evilly.   
The other Dark Warlord stood and walked over. "I see we _were_ hunting something better." Sekhmet saw the other man's eyes examine the nodachi. "May I see that for a moment?"   
He shrugged and handed it over. Nodachis weren't his thing. They were too big and heavy. Still, it would make a great prize, nonetheless. He watched as Cale moved the nodachi around in his hand. Then the other man gazed for a moment at the flat of the blade. Suddenly his face looked surprised.   
"What is it?"   
Cale shook it off. "I sense that this is indeed a powerful weapon."   
"Too bad she didn't know how to use it."   
He handed it back. "So the gaijin is dead, then?"   
"Will be, soon enough."   
"You brought her here?!" he asked incredulously.   
"So she could suffer by Master Talpa's power."   
"But Master Talpa said he didn't want her brought back."   
Sekhmet waved a hand. "She is imprisoned, I saw to it myself. I want her to kneel before our master before she's killed." He looked at Cale briefly before he turned around to leave. _Questioning my judgment. Definitely not a mark in his favor. _He then teleported to the throne room.   
Sekhmet bowed, holding the nodachi before him. "Master Talpa."   
The apparition of the helmet appeared. "Ah, Sekhmet. I noticed your efforts in capturing the gaijin."   
"Yes, Master. I await your orders. How do you wish to dispense of her?"   
Talpa laughed. "I will have her bow and slain before me." Sekhmet grinned inwardly. This was going just as he had planned. However, his joy changed at the next part. "I will have Cale run her through with her own nodachi."   
Sekhmet looked up quickly. "But Master Talpa, I was the one who captured her. I'm the one who should have the honor of killing her."   
"Don't question my orders, Sekhmet. You shall see the value in my judgment. You wish her to suffer, do you not? This is what will make her soul suffer."   
Sekhmet bowed again. "As you wish, Master Talpa." The Warlord teleported back to near Cale's room. He took the extra distance to think about what his Master said. _It doesn't make sense. I should be the one to kill her._ This time he threw open Cale's room door.   
Cale looked up. "What's wrong?"   
Sekhmet threw the sword to the ground before Cale. "Master Talpa wants you to slay the gaijin."   
The man looked surprised. "Me?"   
"Yes, with her own sword." He paused and swallowed the distaste of the moment. "I will hold her down to bow before our master. We must hurry, Master Talpa awaits."   
Cale nodded as he picked up the nodachi. "I'll come with you to the dungeon."   
Sekhmet bit his lip in disgust. Without saying a word he teleported with Cale to the dungeon. Cale quickly had summoned his subarmor. Sekhmet walked into the dungeon, hoping some gloating would make him feel better. However, they looked and saw it was empty.   
"_What_?" Sekhmet looked around to see the guards that were not too far away all lying on the ground. "What the...?"   
"How'd she escape?" Cale asked, examining the place where the woman had been held.   
Something caught Sekhmet's eye and he walked over to one of the guards. The Warlord bent down and picked something up. He felt Cale walk over and look over his shoulder. "What is it?"   
"It seems one of my father's 'kin' helped the gaijin to escape." He used the term bitterly as he felt the bit of scaly flesh that had been cut off in his armored fingers.   
"Huh? What..."   
Sekhmet spun and ran out the room, bumping into the other Dark Warlord in the process. "Come on! She can't be far!" 

_Clever thing, isn't she._ Sekhmet watched from the shadows at a Dynasty soldier leaving the area. _Perhaps I underestimated this girl._ He looked ahead to where he knew Dayus was. A feeling crept up his neck as he knew that he was definitely not in Talpa's favor now. He had to capture the gaijin, or...   
Sekhmet brought his attention back as he saw the gaijin, disguised as a soldier, nearing the area Dayus should be.   
"Web of Deception!"   
_There's my cue,_ Sekhmet chuckled inwardly. He teleported, with swords drawn, before the gaijin, whose disguise had shattered in the attack. "Give up, gaijin! You're surrounded and without arms."   
She spun to look at him, surprised. "You're all fools!" the woman yelled as she took a defensive stance. Anubis spun his weapon and threw the clawed part at her. She jumped out of the way and ducked below a blow from one of Dayus's scythes.   
Sekhmet went to cut her from below, but she laid down and rolled out of the way. Then she jumped back up into her defensive position.   
Another stranger ran up, this time a minor follower of Talpa's. He drew his weapon and literally jumped into the battle, yelling "Die!"   
The woman nearly dodged again, but her foot slipped and took her off balance. As she went to get up, she turned and screamed. Sekhmet grinned as Cale appeared behind her, holding her own nodachi. He swung down for a blow, but the sword stopped right before it reached its mark.   
"What the?!" Cale stepped back and drew his own nodachi from his armor as hers floated there in place. He swung again, this time not only did his nodachi stop in mid-swing, but his armor chimed loudly. Cale grunted.   
Sekhmet looked at the scene, stunned. Cale seemed to be frozen in place, and the gaijin looked at him the whole time. _It's a trick! But how?_ Then he saw a white staff, the one he remembered from their first meeting, appear in her hand. She turned back to face him and the other Dark Warlords. The woman then yelled something in a strange tongue and Sekhmet felt something go through him.   
He stumbled, putting hand over eyes and on his forehead. _The cursed thing knows magic! Aaahh!_ The Warlord felt something burning on his forehead as he could barely hear the gaijin chanting something.   
Sekhmet looked up at the woman as she stood. She looked to the minor servant, who was unaffected by the spell, and stood her ground. "It's up to you now to defeat me, or Talpa will have you killed." She had already called away her staff and now took hold of her nodachi. "Perhaps I'll kill you first, though."   
Sekhmet looked around to see the other Dark Warlords as much affected by the spell and frozen in place as he was. He heard the clang of battle between the minor minion and the gaijin. He gazed back to the ensuing battle.   
The minion had already had one of his two weapons shattered in pieces. He dodged her next blow and tried to sweep her. The woman jumped into the air, somersaulted, and landed behind him.   
"Say sayonara," she said in a low angry tone as she swung. The minion held up its sword in defense, but her nodachi shattered it as she took his head. Smoke poured out of the armor.   
The gaijin stood and looked over the Warlords and at Cale for a very long moment. She bowed and simply said, "Gomen nasaii," and then teleported away.   
Sekhmet felt his body under his control again, but was exhausted. He collapsed to the ground, and heard the other Warlords do the same. _Gomen nasaii? She's sorry? Sorry for what? Urg..._

When Sekhmet awoke, he found himself in his room. He shook his head. "What happened?" He tried to remember, and all he could remember of the ordeal was that the gaijin escaped somehow and she defeated someone in her escape. There was a very fuzzy memory. _Didn't she have a staff? I remember some chant, or at least I think she chanted._ Sekhmet grabbed his head. _Why can't I remember?_ But no answers were forthcoming. 

It was several years later when Sekhmet received the order to return to the mortal world and destroy a village whose inhabitants had offended Talpa in some way. Or perhaps it was to show the humans that the demon lord was still there, watching them. Either way, he was happy to oblige.   
As Sekhmet, backed by several soldiers, rode into the main square of the village to survey what was being done, enjoying the heat of the flames and the screams of the people as he had before in his own village, he noticed a warrior who had not been killed yet. _This is interesting,_ he thought, reining in the pale violet horse. The man, whose golden armor was slightly darkened with the smoke, tore through one soldier and then another before his eyes alighted on the armored form in front of him.   
"Such a valiant warrior," Sekhmet said, dismounting and drawing two of his swords, "protecting his village. One fit to deal with myself."   
The man hacked his way through another soldier to get to the Warlord. "This is not my village, but I will help them fight the Dynasty... I will help anyone fight the Dynasty." Then the man blinked and shook his head as if to clear his vision. "It-- it's you!"   
He regarded the man skeptically. "So, you know me. But I don't seem to have heard of you, warrior. What makes you think you can even begin to fight the Dynasty?"   
"So, you have forgotten me."   
"It seems so," he replied nonchalantly. "But I do kill so many people, it's hard to keep track of who's related to who. Was it your parents I sent to new lives, or perhaps your brother, or sister? Do you now seek revenge?"   
"I seek only the downfall of Talpa!" the man cried, lunging forward. Sekhmet met his blow, parrying and striking back. He let venom flow into the blades and jumped forward, swinging them down. There was a flash of gold as the man's own magic repelled the poison. It seemed to come from the curved jewel that hung from his neck. The Warlord was shocked, but only for a moment. _His magic must come from that jewel... I wasn't expecting that._   
The two fought as if mirrors of each other, attacking and defending and gaining no ground on the other. And then, with a sudden movement, Sekhmet struck the man's chin with the pommel of his sword. His helmet protected his jawbone from most of the blow, but the force of it sent the helm flying off.   
The man stumbled back a few steps, blue and purple hair swinging free, and then looked up at his surprised attacker. Kyokazu's irisless black eyes regarded his as Sekhmet did the same.   
"Oh... you are that boy, the one with the gaijin." He looked at the young man, resplendent in his armor, holding his sword with familiarity, and tried to remember the skinny boy who had escaped because of the red-haired witch.   
"My name is Kyokazu, and I am a Guardian of the Ancient. And I am going to stop you."   
_So he is in league with the monk, Talpa's enemy. I can sense the power in him... _"Regretfully, it is too late for you to join the Dynasty now, so I am afraid I'll have to kill you. It's a pity. I might have enjoyed fighting with another of my kind by my side."   
Kyokazu said nothing but merely attacked again. The two fought, and Sekhmet could not help but admire the man's skill. He had to actually consider what he was going to do next, instead of fighting without thought as he had so many times before against the 'champions' of the mortals. It was as if Kyokazu, his armor, his weapon and his jewel were as one.   
The swords clanged together again and again, and it slowly became apparent to him that, although he was not going to lose this battle, he was not going to win it anytime soon, either. So he jumped back, using the armor's power to propel him further away than Kyokazu could quickly reach.   
"It's been a pleasure... playing with you," Sekhmet commented, "but it appears that this village has been completely destroyed and I am no longer needed here. Feel free to pick up the pieces, and tell your monk that he will never defeat the Dynasty, no matter who he trains to fight us."   
The man stood still, holding his sword up, the blade never wavering. "And you tell your master that the Ancient has a few surprises for you. Although I won't be there to see it, you can be sure I'll be cheering your downfall."   
Sekhmet smiled grimly and bowed mockingly. "You can deliver your own messages when Talpa is grinding you under his heel." And with that he teleported, leaving Kyokazu to the ruins. 

A high-pitched wailing scream rent the air, audible not only outside the throne room but also down the corridors surrounding it. He waited patiently in front of the throne where their master always spoke to them, one hand clenched in a fist and held over his heart in a salute. The girl at his feet screamed again, clutching her head, the golden cuffs on her wrists pulsing.   
Sekhmet didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on the apparitional mask. The girl Cale had brought back from the mortal world, Taia, had so much promise, so much power waiting to be used. But something had gone wrong. Talpa couldn't control her mind, couldn't turn her to his will. He couldn't even keep her a child. Taia had finally stopped aging, growing while the other children remained the same. After fifty years, she now appeared to be seventeen.   
The glow of the cuffs died down, and she went limp, panting heavily. Sekhmet did nothing, waiting for his master's acknowledgment. He was only here because he had discovered the problem, because it was he who had brought to Talpa's attention the fact that not everything was going as planned.   
It was because he had gone out of boredom to visit the children's dungeon, to see what was happening there. The children there were generally content, ready and willing to serve Talpa. They were receiving training, practicing with weapons to help fight for their new master.   
He had seen among them the girl, parrying with a spear. She was taller than the others, not a child as he had least seen her. As he stood silently watching, she suddenly wailed a note, blasting her trainer, a soldier, with energy from the spear, and bolted for the doorway. And when she'd gotten there she'd stopped still, although he hadn't lifted a finger against her.   
He had wondered if she would try to use her powers against him, but she did not. Taia only tried to cover her ears again, and he was reminded of when he had first seen her, thinking she was crazy. He also remembered that he thought she would be beautiful when she was grown.   
And she was. He felt a strange attraction to her, despite or perhaps because of the fact that she so obviously hated him. But she was grown, and that was what Talpa was trying to keep from happening. And so he had to report it, and so his master had found another way to control her - through the cuffs.   
"You will not disobey me again," Talpa said to her sternly, watching as she lay sobbing on the floor. "No matter how long it takes, you will learn that I am your master and you exist only to serve me." The demon lord turned his attention to the Warlord. "Sekhmet, take her back to the dungeons."   
"Yes, Master." He bent and picked Taia up, teleporting them to the doorless cubicle off the main dungeon where she slept. She was half-unconscious, awake but not functioning. He laid her on the mat and crouched down next to her for a moment. Her hair lay in sweaty tendrils across her face, and slowly he reached out and brushed them away.   
Perhaps it was the touch of his subarmor that did it, but she seemed to wake up slightly, curling up and groaning. "No... why?" she said hoarsely. "Why does he hurt me? Why can't he let me go?"   
"If you only obeyed it wouldn't hurt as much," he told her. "You're bringing it on yourself, Taia." It was not comfort, it was truth. He had not stayed to comfort her, he had stayed to try and prevent more of what she was doing.   
She closed her eyes, turning away from him. "Can't... must fight... I can't obey his evil..." Taia stiffened slightly as the words left her mouth, and she cried out again, low and long. "No... gods, no, he's in my _head_..."   
Sekhmet shook his head and stood up. There was nothing he could do. Unless she was able to accept as the others had, it would be a long eternity of pain for her. Some people never did learn... 

It was the middle of what passed for night in the Netherworld, the Warlords still awake nonetheless. They could feel it all throughout the castle, the building sensation of Talpa's growing anger, and it prevented them from getting any rest.   
_What is he so angry about?_ Sekhmet wondered, pacing, his movements full of pent-up energy. Seventy-six Earth years had passed since the gaijin woman had disappeared, and nothing important had happened in that time. They still went down to conquer people, still looking for magical children, although they hadn't found any for years. Talpa had announced that he was nearly ready to invade the mortal world. But still, nothing had _happened_.   
He had just made up his mind to try and get some rest when he was yanked out of the room in a blinding, painful flash of red light. He appeared in the Dynasty throne room, just barely aware that the other Warlords were there as well. But the painful crackle of light drove away his senses, sent him falling to his knees. Talpa was punishing him - punishing _them_, he realized, as he heard the astonished, pained cries of the other three - but why?   
"Master!" Anubis's strangled voice rang out. "What have we done?"   
"What have you done? You have done nothing! And because of you, because of that monk, we may face a threat to my rule!" The pain let up and the Warlords struggled to stand and salute, changing into their subarmor.   
"My Emperor, please tell us what is going on!" Dayus asked, not moving even to wipe off the bead of sweat that was on his forehead.   
The demon lord's eyes flashed like red suns, and the viewscreen lit up behind them. Shown on the screen were five teenagers, four boys and a girl, talking with each other near the top of a hill. One boy seemed to be telling the others something that they were surprised about, and then he held out a hand to show them a dark blue orb.   
The curly-haired boy jumped into the air above the other four, his kimono shredding and dissolving to reveal blue and white body armor. Each of the others nodded and looked at each other, and then copied his actions. Soon they, too, were dressed in bicolored subarmor, colored green, light blue, orange and red.   
Sekhmet narrowed his eyes. "That's armor like ours!" he spat suddenly, not knowing exactly how he knew. It certainly didn't look like theirs, but Talpa's eyes flashed in assent.   
"Yes," he boomed angrily. "It was given to them by an ancient monk, the same monk who thwarted my attempt to take this world nearly six hundred years ago! He stole my armor and separated it. But I will gain it back, you will see."   
Talpa laughed suddenly. "I have forced him to play his hand too soon. These children he calls the 'Ronin Warriors' are young and inexperienced. It is your task, my Dark Warlords, to defeat them and bring their armors to me! You must defeat them before they find their powers, or the task will be more difficult."   
The Warlords were itching to ask questions, but they respectfully kept silent until their master was finished. "Anubis!" Talpa snapped. "Go to Earth and test their abilities. Let them know we are watching them... that we will destroy them."   
The red-haired man's eyes lit up, and he bowed. "Yes, Master," he said with a grin at the other three before teleporting.   
Cale frowned and seemed about to say something. However, Talpa noticed and cut him off. "Do not worry, Cale. You all will get your chance at them. Prepare yourselves!"   
They nodded and bowed, teleporting away. Sekhmet smiled to himself. Finally there was something to do, even if Anubis did get to go down first. Too bad their opponents were so weak. _Oh well... it should make them more fun to play with. _He called his armor and drew out one of the swords. Best to make sure they were sharp before the time came. 

It was his turn to go and terrorize the Ronins, and Sekhmet was ready. Anubis and Cale, who had already been sent, had reported that they were incredibly weak and knew next to nothing about fighting in their armor. But now they knew about the Dynasty and would be a bit more cautious. No matter. He would show these upstarts what real power was like!   
He arrived near the small farmer's house they were staying in. The five were outside the run-down house, wearing their subarmor, apparently discussing their options. The boy who had become their leader, the one who wore the dark blue, stood in front of them. Sekhmet used an illusion, watching them unseen.   
"We must be on the lookout," he was saying. "Those... things that attacked us earlier said that there would be others on their way."   
"But Tari," the boy in red said, flipping back strands of light brown hair, "how are we going to be able to face them without learning more about these armors?"   
The one in light blue nodded. "He's right. Those two... Dark Warlords, they called themselves... they have strange powers. We don't. Our armors may be stronger than usual armor, and different, mystical, but we can't really _use_ them yet."   
Tari nodded, turning to the two who hadn't spoken yet: the girl wearing the green subarmor and the tall boy in orange. Those two were standing hand-in-hand in the doorway of the house. "Meina? Jiro? What do you think?"   
The girl looked down, pensive. "I think... perhaps if we learn more about our armors new things will be revealed to us. I don't know how we can do that, though."   
Jiro nodded, squeezing her hand. "I think that we have to fight this Dynasty. I think that's our purpose. We have to fight for our families and for this world."   
Sekhmet allowed himself to fade into view. "Such a touching speech," he said, smirking as they all spun around and jumped to their feet. "It's really too bad we have to defeat you. You'd bring up the morale of any common soldier."   
"Another one!" Meina gasped.   
He chuckled at them. "I am Sekhmet, Warlord of Venom. Perhaps you've heard of my master, Talpa? Your deaths are near, little warriors."   
Tari glanced around at the others and then nodded. "Yeah? Prepare to be defeated!"   
Sekhmet laughed. "Oh, please. Do give it your best try. I'll be waiting." He drew his swords and merely stood where he was, watching with some interest as the five teenagers hastily prepared to armor up.   
"Armor of Strata! Tao Inochi!" Tari called, dark blue light cracking from his armored hands.   
The boy with very long blue-black hair stepped forward next to him. "Armor of Torrent! Tao Shin!" Staron shouted.   
Meina was next. "Armor of Halo! Tao Chi!"   
"Armor of Hardrock! Tao Gi!" Jiro yelled, orange light surrounding him.   
The last one joined the other warriors. Kamien raised his hands. "Armor of Wildfire! Tao Jin!"   
And then, after the apparitions of cherry blossom petals and bolts of silk had appeared, the five Ronins stood before him encased in brightly-colored armor, gripping their weapons. Sekhmet resisted the urge to applaud.   
"Very good," was all he said. "Now let's see how well you fight, children."   
"Right," Jiro replied, charging forward and striking with his staff. Sekhmet caught it on the blade of one of his swords and shoved him back. The others attacked him and were easily driven back.   
They had been taught a little, he noticed, but they were still obviously in the middle of their training. _For instance, you never let your guard up like that,_ he thought to himself, striking Torrent as he lifted his trident for a hit. The armor protected Staron from the full force of the venom in the sword, but it obviously stung his eyes and he fell back, the others closing ranks in front of him protectively.   
_And they work together. Strange, seeing as they just met... well, it's not going to save them._ "You are foolish and weak," he declared. "I should just kill you now and save the trouble." He began preparing for his attack, focusing the energy. "Have a taste of my power! Snake Fang Strike!"   
The glowing whip crashed into them, and when it had gone he noticed that it had particularly affected the one in the Torrent armor. He had fallen to the ground, trying desperately to pick himself up with Wildfire's help.   
Saving this information for later, Sekhmet raised another sword, about to lunge. And then a strange image caught his eye, and he paused, turning slightly, making sure to watch out for the Ronins. A man with long straight white hair stood dressed in monks' clothing near the house. The staff he carried was glowing dimly, the gold pulse seeming to grow more intense.   
"Huh? You must be that monk!" he said aloud, and the Ronins turned to look at what he was staring at.   
Kamien, who was supporting his injured comrade, frowned. "Who's he?" the young warrior questioned. The monk didn't answer, simply raising the staff. It grew blindingly bright, its golden glow painful to Sekhmet's eyes. He held up an arm, biting back a curse. The light didn't seem to hurt the Ronins at all, even seeming to heal Torrent somewhat.   
_Sekhmet!_ Talpa spoke suddenly into his mind. _The Ancient is interfering! You must return!_ He felt Talpa's energy around him, pulling him back to the Dynasty.   
"You haven't seen the last of me!" he called to the Ronins as he disappeared. "Count on that!" Sekhmet faded from view and reappeared in the throne room in front of his master. "Master Talpa!" he said when he had solidified. "What was the monk doing there?"   
The eyeholes in the mask glowed with anger. "He appears to be protecting them. This cannot go on much longer. I will have the armors back, and I will have this world! Dayus shall attempt to ensnare them next. I wish to see just how far the monk's protection goes."   
"And then?" Sekhmet asked.   
"And then, protection or no, you four will go together and destroy them. It ends here." 

And it was to end that day. Dayus had gone and returned only to report that the Ronins were coming close to figuring something out, perhaps finding their powers. Talpa couldn't risk that, couldn't let them unlock the secrets of the armors that had been taken from him. All four Warlords were sent to Earth, this time with orders to kill, and to return the armors to their master.   
The field where they were to meet the Ronins was empty of all life. No animals or birds dared to come close once they had sensed the aura of the Netherworld around the four armored men who had appeared there. They stood near one of the few trees in the area, the grass green and tall around them, camouflaging them somewhat.   
"They will be in this area soon," Dayus told them, looking around.   
"Right," Anubis said, shifting the weight of his kusari-gama in his hands. "We must all work together on this. We can leave no survivors." It seemed to Sekhmet that he was directing this statement at him, and scowled, but kept silent. He knew better than to cause trouble at a time such as this.   
Cale nodded. "They are not prepared for us, although they were wearing their armor when we saw their images on the screen. We mustn't lose the advantage by letting them know we are here." He faded from view, and the others did the same, waiting. Eventually the five teenagers tramped into the area, generally talking and complaining about the sudden darkness of the sky. They stopped short as the Dark Warlords appeared before them, coming close to gaping in shock.   
"Prepare to die, Ronin children!" Anubis snapped.   
Sekhmet pulled the swords from his back and crossed them in front of him as the others readied their weapons. The excitement of battle rushed through him. "It's a pity this will be so easy," he commented.   
The Ronins began to recover. "That's what you think!" Tari shouted, raising his golden bow and loading an arrow. He fired swiftly at Cale, who was ready for it and raised his nodachi, batting it to the side. Dayus reached for his naginatas, casting them forward and sending up strands of sticky webbing, scattering the Ronins. The other Warlords went after them as he pulled the weapon back.   
Sekhmet found himself battling Meina of Halo. She carried a nodachi, holding it with familiarity. But she appeared unsure of herself still, swinging forward. He blocked it with two of his blades. _It's not even worth it to taunt her,_ he thought, slamming a blade toward her helmet. She clumsily moved to block, but the force of the blow sent her reeling.   
He experienced a brief moment of regret that the fight wasn't longer before moving in for the kill. Meina's neck area was unprotected, and she wasn't skilled enough to defend it with her movements. Sekhmet shifted the position of his hand around one of the hilts and raised it up. He watched her eyes as he drove it down, seeing realization and panic and pain, and then peace as she tried to scream and failed, the long sword falling from useless green-armored fingers.   
Meina collapsed forward onto her face, blood soon pooling under her head. He looked down at her a moment, somehow not feeling incredibly victorious. _She could have been a great opponent if she had been trained._ He shook his head. _Enough of this foolishness. There are four left for us to kill._   
The sound of Halo falling was loud enough to draw the attention of the others nearby, engrossed in their own battles. Jiro looked over, and the face under the crescent-horned helmet grew furious. "Meina! No! You'll pay for this!" Swinging his staff above him, he lunged, catching Sekhmet off-guard.   
"I say it's time we finish this farce!" Cale shouted from nearby. "Black Lightning Slash!" He swung his sword to the side, sending dark bolts of electricity directly at Jiro.   
The Ronin of Justice was stopped in his tracks, tripping and falling to his knees. "No..." he gasped, trying to suck in air. He slumped over, going limp, and fell at Sekhmet's feet, near the body of his beloved.   
Sekhmet blinked at Cale. "Nice timing there."   
"Thanks." He spun back around and moved forward to face the others, red cape whipping around behind him. Sekhmet stayed back to watch, ready to come if he was needed.   
Anubis violently struck back Staron's trident. "Yes, it's time this ended! Quake With Fear!" He threw forward the end of his weapon, chains springing up around the three remaining Ronins.   
The chains caught both Torrent and Strata, Kamien managing to roll out of the way. The two young warriors were yanked into the air, the trident falling to the ground as Staron raised both his arms to pull at the chains, which were twisted around his neck. Tari had been luckier, the metal only catching him about the chest.   
Sekhmet glanced over to where Wildfire, his katanas raised, was in the midst of attacking Dayus, and decided he didn't need any help before looking back to Anubis. Strata had noticed his companion's problem, but wasn't able to do anything. "Staron!" he cried, trying to pull free. Torrent was slowly choking, his own weight helping to hang him. Anubis laughed as he went limp, dangling in the air, his neck broken.   
A look of sheer rage on his face, Tari raised his bow and fired off another arrow, trying to get Anubis to drop the chains. The Warlord of Cruelty merely stood there as the arrow went whizzing past, misfired. Tari's shoulders slumped, and he seemed broken, defeated.   
Dayus suddenly kicked Kamien away and, in a few leaps, had jumped backwards to the tree. Swinging his morningstar around a limb, he hung upside down, ready to call his power. Sekhmet had an idea and sheathed his swords, turning and catching Dayus's eye. The Warlord of Deception nodded slightly, understanding.   
Sekhmet ran back, catching hold of Dayus's arms. He could appreciate the man's strength as he swung him up onto the limb above. He steadied himself, holding a sword set, and noted that both Cale and Anubis were getting out of the way. _Good._   
"Ready?" Dayus called up.   
"Yes," he replied, drawing out the other sword and swinging them together, calling on his power. Below him, Dayus did the same. The words rang out almost simultaneously.   
"Web of Deception!"   
"Snake Fang Strike!"   
The gold and purple energies ran together, twisting and sparking around each other. It rushed through the field, crashing into the Ronins with combined force. The last two were hit, and when the power had died away, Tari's form swung from the chains, his hand still clenched around the bow, and Kamien was sprawled out over the ground.   
Dayus leaped back to the ground, Sekhmet jumping down to join him and the other two. "Glad it worked," Anubis said curtly, yanking back on his weapon and causing the chains to dissipate, two armored bodies hitting the grass.   
Dayus shrugged. "Didn't think our powers could combine like that," he remarked, his voice echoing metallically from behind his helmet. "I was wrong."   
"We should make sure of them," Sekhmet said, crouching down and wiping his katanas off on the grass. Even though they weren't normal blades, the blood could ruin them if left on in the sheath.   
He stood up and wandered over to where Halo lay, although he was sure she was dead. The others moved off in different directions to check the rest. He flipped her over with his foot, blood matting the few pieces of black hair that escaped from her helm.   
The gaping wound in her throat, still smoking venom spasmodically, proved she was dead, and he nodded at Dayus who was making sure of Jiro nearby. He nodded back in reply, ruby droplets dripping from the polished metal blade of one of his naginatas. Hardrock was dead as well.   
Cale and Anubis were taking care of Strata and Torrent a short distance away, and so Sekhmet went over to where Kamien lay, his helm next to him, one of the horns cracked and broken. The warrior was still alive, he saw after a moment, seeing his facial muscles move with his breathing. _Good thing I checked,_ he mused, unsheathing a sword.   
As he held the katana above the red-armored boy, ready to put him out of his misery, a trickle of venom ran down its edge, hanging momentarily at the tip and then falling to land with a splash on Kamien's cheek. His pale blue eyes opened wide, and he attempted to scream and move away, unable to do anything.   
_How interesting._ Sekhmet let another drop fall. The battle had been boring, too easy, almost laughable. The children warriors had been unprepared, unskilled, unworthy opponents. The venom dripped down, and a thin cry finally escaped from Kamien's throat.   
The battle had been a waste of time and energy. Another drop fell, burning through the Ronin's skin. Their stolen armors hadn't saved them. He felt a surge of power rush through him, felt his armor seem to gain in energy. He needed to attack to something, to kill some more. The strange power-force of Wildfire's pain ran across his senses. "Yes, suffer," he said hoarsely to the boy, closing his eyes.   
_Yes, the armor craves pain, it wants suffering to make it grow,_ a voice in the back of his head told him. Whether it was his own or someone else's, Sekhmet could not say. _Gain in power, give it the pain it wants, and then you can kill and kill and kill for your master... _   
Wildfire screamed louder this time, drawing the attention of the others. "Sekhmet!" Anubis said sharply as he came over to them. "Just finish him and be done with it!"   
He opened his eyes slowly and gazed at the other Warlord, regarding him calmly although the power inside him made him want to strike out at the man. "And you're supposed to be the Warlord of Cruelty," he said slowly, dangerously. "It seems to me that you're too soft for the job, Anubis."   
He lifted his weapon, a scowl on his face. "I will not take your insults. Perhaps there is another matter we should finish now."   
_You want to hurt him, you want to kill him, kill him, kill him, kill..._ the voice inside said. Sekhmet drew his other sword. "Gladly." He gave in to the power's urging and moved to lunge at Anubis. "And this time I'll defeat you!"   
"Stop!" Dayus commanded, moving in between them. "Enough of this."   
Cale stood next to Anubis, glaring at them. "Now is _not_ the time. We still have to collect the armors for Master Talpa." He looked down at Kamien and swung the Sword of Darkness, severing the Ronin's last thread of life.   
The armor on all five of the bodies began to shimmer, flashing bright and dark, and then suddenly the dead warriors were wearing only kimonos again, a dully pulsing crystal orb laying on the field next to each of them.   
"Ah..." Anubis said, bending to pick up the red crystal of the Wildfire armor. A bright yellow light stopped him, lighting up the area brighter than the sun. The Warlords were forced to hide their eyes, Cale crying out sharply in pain.   
"What is this?" Dayus shouted.   
Sekhmet tried to peer painfully through the light and saw five swirls of color racing toward a man and a white tiger. The white-haired man held a shakujo aloft, the colors one by one disappearing into the head of the staff.   
"It's the monk!" he called back. "He's taking the armor!"   
And then the light vanished suddenly, leaving only the Ancient and the tiger standing there for a moment before they, too, faded from view. "Damn!" Anubis swore. "We almost had them. Talpa will not be pleased."   
Cale shook his head, wincing as if he had a headache, which he most probably did. "But we killed the Ronins, didn't we?"   
"But we didn't get the armor," Dayus sighed, placing the naginatas on his back. "Talpa probably watched the whole thing. I suggest we go and face our punishment before he drags us back."   
Sekhmet nodded, carefully not looking at Anubis. He would most likely be punished for fighting with him, as well. _And if I had managed to kill him..._ He looked down, suppressing a shudder. _I would be lucky to be alive afterwards._ "Agreed." The others gave their assent, and the four Dark Warlords teleported, failed and yet triumphant. 

A nagging thought in the back of his head tormented him day in and day out. Sekhmet couldn't think of what it was, though, couldn't remember, and that was the problem. He had the feeling it was something important that he was forgetting, something to do with the Dynasty.   
Talpa had not been pleased when he'd learned that the monk had taken back the armor. He was obviously going to give them to another set of warriors, and was most likely not going to make the same mistake. He would keep them a secret until they were trained enough to stand a chance.   
But that had been a long while ago, nearly another century, and no one had been found yet who stood to possess the armors. Talpa had brought a seer from the mortal world, and the man was working to find the five destined to become Ronins. But that would take a little time, and so they had to wait.   
Sekhmet walked through the halls late at night, trying to remember what it was he had forgotten. And it wasn't just this that he couldn't recall; there were other things too. Things about his past, people he had known... it seemed that his past began and ended with the Dynasty, and that was that. _Is this because of Talpa? Perhaps it is the influence of the Netherworld itself. Or maybe it is just time. Have I really lived almost two centuries?_   
As he meandered down the corridors, he noticed a very dim blue light flickering from underneath one of the huge doors. It was Cale's room. _Now why is he up? Everyone else is asleep or... otherwise occupied, as far as I know._   
He knocked on the door, if only to satisfy his curiosity. There was no answer, and so he cracked it slightly. Cale looked up from where he was sitting at a desk, a small nether-fire burning nearby. He had a brush in his hand, writing something, and when he saw Sekhmet standing there he quickly flipped his paper over.   
He came further into the room and snorted derisively. "I'm not going to try and read that, Cale." The other Warlord seemed about to say something, but apparently decided against it.   
"What do you want?" he asked, setting down the brush.   
"I wanted to ask you if you ever had trouble remembering things... before the Dynasty." _Or is it just my mind going?_   
Cale regarded him a moment with that judging look he had, as if he could see how serious he was. "Yes," he said finally. "I don't know why it is... so it's happening to you, too."   
He nodded in confirmation. "Something happened back then that I need to know. It's important..." And it had to do with the Ronins. But he couldn't say that out loud. If he was right, and something happened...   
The blue-haired man looked thoughtfully down at the paper. "I think it's because of Talpa. What happened then isn't important to us now. It's past, and so long ago." His eyes pierced into Sekhmet suddenly. "And yet, my family name was taken from me when I was a boy. I had my revenge and took it back, but I can no longer remember the name of the man, or how I did it. It doesn't seem right that he should take away..." Cale suddenly stopped talking.   
"Well, if he is taking my memories, and I need them and they're not there," Sekhmet said, turning away and walking to the doorway, "he's not going to keep from punishing me. It won't matter that it was he who prevented it. It's still going to be my fault." His hand tightened on the doorjamb.   
"Is what you've forgotten that important?" he said from somewhere behind him, sounding slightly confused.   
Sekhmet looked down, frowning. "Yes... I think it is." Perhaps meditation could bring the information out from the fog of forgotten past. It was worth a try... and at least he had learned that he was not alone in this. It was a start. 

He was deep in meditation when he was summoned. The call pierced through the calm as he tried to search through the fog, bringing him back to reality. He had seen things dimly, but nothing that seemed important enough to affect him now.   
Sekhmet sighed and changed into his armor, teleporting and standing in his place in front of his master. The others were there as well, and the seer man stood next to Talpa's throne, looking pleased with himself. The demon lord's form shimmered into being, but he did not speak. The seer shook back his long black hair and stepped forward, addressing the Warlords.   
"I have found the heirs to the Ronin armors," he announced. "According to our master, each of you will be sent to exterminate these heirs before they have a chance to receive the armors."   
Talpa's eyes flashed briefly. "I intend to stop this before it starts. Show them, Aedesola."   
"As you will." He gestured, putting images on the viewscreen. "These children are destined to become Ronin Warriors if they live to be old enough." Five young faces flashed before them. "Torrent. Strata. Halo. Wildfire. Hardrock. If they are not destroyed now, they will stand a good chance of defeating you."   
It seemed that some memory rose in Sekhmet's mind at those words, that of a forest, a hill, and people standing on it. _It... has to do with this?_   
"So we are to be the murderers of children." It was Anubis who had said this, and everyone's eyes focused in on him.   
Talpa flared angrily. "So, you would rather risk our defeat, Anubis?"   
He shook his head. "Of course not, my Emperor! But I do not feel that there is honor in killing children! That is for ninja and thieves." His eyes flicked over to Cale, who glowered but said nothing.   
"You will do it, nevertheless. You, Anubis, will be responsible for the deaths of the Torrent and Halo heirs. They are located in the same vicinity." The Warlord of Cruelty could do nothing but nod in response.   
Talpa turned his attention to the others. "Sekhmet, Hardrock is yours, and Cale will take care of Strata. Dayus, you have Wildfire. I wish you to go as soon as possible. Aedesola foresees an opportune time for you specifically."   
The man nodded, smoothing a wrinkle out of his deep purple robes. "If you do it in the next few days, there will be no interference."   
Dayus bowed. "I accept this assignment, my master. I will not fail you."   
"You had better not, Dayus, if you know what is good for you." 

Dayus had left a day later, ready to ensnare his prey, and the fog had still not yet cleared. Closer and closer and closer it seemed to come, yet staying maddeningly out of reach. _If I don't find out what this is soon, I'm going..._ Sekhmet shook his head. "Perhaps I should speak to Master Talpa about this," he said aloud, and teleported before he could change his mind.   
No one was in the darkened throne room when he arrived, and suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea after all. Sekhmet turned to leave, his eyes suddenly caught by a pale pulsing glow coming from the viewscreen. _Wonder what Dayus is doing... will he succeed in killing the Ronin heir, or are they too well-protected?_ Something in him hoped the Warlord was having trouble, and so he decided to watch.   
He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to the mass of energy, activating it instinctively. He thought of Dayus and his mission, and immediately the screen brightened to show a farmhouse nestled near the edge of a stand of trees. The view suddenly switched to the inside of the house, but Dayus was nowhere in sight. Instead a woman stood alone in the middle of the room.   
"You can come out now, daughter! It's all right now, there's nothing to fear!" she called. Waiting. And no response.   
The screen's view changed as the woman took a few steps forward, and Sekhmet could see sprawled near the door the slashed, bloody body of a man. Two terrified young boys stood near a supporting post, securely fastened to it and gagged with strands of shimmering webbing. The Warlord blinked as he got a glimpse of another corpse, one that looked exactly like the woman standing in the room. He understood.   
"You don't have to hide anymore!" Dayus tried again, peering up at the ceiling. "Your brothers are here too! We're waiting for you!" There was a muffled scratching noise in another room, and a young girl slowly peered around the doorway, long locks of dark brown hair partially covering her face.   
She stared at the figure of the woman crouched down, her arms open wide, recognizing it through the darkness. "Mother!" She ran straight into Dayus's arms, stray strands of web sticking to her bare feet and legs. The prey had been ensnared.   
Dayus let go of the illusion, his form expanding into the familiar armored outline. The girl gasped and looked up at him. Sekhmet expected struggling and tears, but there was none. "You want the fire?" she said, staring straight into his good eye.   
"It's because of the fire," he replied calmly.   
"I don't want it," she whispered. "Please... you can have it when I get it... but please let us go."   
He nearly appeared to be moved by her words, his white eyebrows knitting momentarily. "I'm sorry, girl, but I must do this," he answered finally.   
She nodded and closed her eyes, leaning her head against his armor. "I know."   
Dayus held her almost tenderly, his hands finally moving up to grasp her neck. "Farewell, Wildfire child," he murmured. A swift movement and she died, instantaneously and painlessly.   
The Dark Warlord laid her body on the ground and stood, his job done. He faced the two boys and, after a moment's contemplation, removed his naginatas, slashing forward. The webbing that bound them fell to the ground, and the older boy immediately grabbed his brother and tried to protect him with his body.   
Dayus tore a chunk of wood from the wall and lit it in the embers of the rapidly dying fireplace. He pointed to the outer door. "Run," he growled in his deep voice, "or stay and be killed."   
The older boy yanked on the toddler's hand and nearly dragged him out the door. However, as they neared the threshold, the small child turned to face the Warlord. "Darkest prison sheds the light," he said, in a voice the was completely too old for his years. And then they had gone, running for the trees, for some kind of safety.   
  
In the Netherworld, Sekhmet stared at the screen in shock, his mind whirring. _That was some kind of verse... I've heard something like that before, I know it._ The image of the hill came back through the fog, and then it hit him. The seer, blabbing about Five Mistakes, reciting something... floating in the sky?   
His eyes went wide. He'd known it had been important. He also knew what he would get for failing to remember in time. "But it's too late," he said aloud, still standing there even as the screen faded to black. "It can't be true. She was just a crazy old woman!"   
"What are you talking about, Sekhmet?" came his master's voice from behind him. Slowly, he turned to face the throne.   
Sekhmet dropped to one knee, clenching his fist and holding it over his heart in a salute. "I have remembered something from my past," he said calmly, already steeling himself for what was to come. "A seer prophesied that I and the other Warlords would make five mistakes that would... lead to the fall of the Dynasty." He paused, swallowing.   
"Go on," the demon lord said ominously.   
He looked down at the marbled floor. "She recited a verse then, before I killed her. I had spared my sister, her husband and child when I had my revenge on my clan. I... think that was one mistake. Just now, Dayus spared two children. One of them said a similar verse. I think that was another, Master." He closed his eyes.   
The eruption of Talpa's fury came in the red light that hit him, knocking him to his hands and knees. A cry of pain was jolted from him as the invading light ran throughout his entire body.   
"No more!" Talpa boomed. "I will order it! There will be no more sparing! Everyone connected with the Ronin heirs will be destroyed. No more mistakes will be made!"   
The pain let up for a moment, and Sekhmet collapsed to the floor. _But what if they've already been made? What if they were made long ago?_ But he wasn't foolish enough to voice his thoughts. The light flashed again, and he twisted involuntarily on the floor, gasping as his throat constricted.   
"Out of my sight!" Talpa thundered, finally stopping, and Sekhmet immediately transported himself back to his room. He collapsed on the bed in exhaustion, feeling as if he'd just been fighting for hours.   
"Damn it," he muttered, trying to make his tortured nerves relax. "Damn it all..." Talpa would undoubtedly punish Dayus, and maybe the others as well. He couldn't care, wishing that the memory had never come back. _No more of the past. Don't need it. Nothing but pain... past is nothing but pain. _

Finally all the Ronin children, heirs to the armors, were dead. Their villages had been destroyed, and every last one of the townspeople hunted down and killed. The Warlords heard no more strange verses, spared no one. The monk had been stopped once more.   
Time marched on ceaselessly in the Mortal World below. The humans evolved, creating strange machines. The strange weapons called guns, which were around even when Sekhmet was young, grew more and more widespread. The people fought wars with the barbarians and the barbarians fought wars with each other.   
The denizens of the Netherworld watched the humans with all the curiosity of a scientist looking at a sample under a microscope. Planes, bombs, tanks, ships, and then the two huge decimating flashes of light that tore apart the land and the metal cities; they watched it all, not quite comprehending. They all had watched things change while their world stayed the same, and always would stay the same.   
The figures of a dozen or so children stood in the cavernous dark throne room, staring at the screen. They had been allowed out of the dungeons to see what their enemies were doing, what they might be up against when they finally began to fight for their master. Among them were six taller people: the Warlords, Taia, and the newest addition to the Dynasty's ranks, Lady Kayura.   
She had declared her loyalty to the Dynasty a short while ago, and already she was showing signs of becoming a very powerful fighter. Kayura stood, her arms crossed, and nearly glared at the screen. "What do they think they're doing?" she declared. "They have no armor, no protection. They're all going to kill each other."   
"All the better for us," Anubis said, considering. "We can still use their energy." Kayura seemed almost to pout, and he laughed. "You still want to try your skills in battle? You'll have a chance," he told her.   
Cale nodded, not taking his eyes off the viewscreen. "There's no way all of them are going to die."   
One of the children, kneeling on the ground, frowned and pointed at the image. "Look," he said, "that bird is metal. How can it fly in the sky if it's so heavy?"   
"And without any feathers," another put in.   
Sekhmet watched surreptitiously as Taia stood down in the midst of them, addressing them. A great explosion and flash of light was shown on the glassy screen. "Look at those things," she said. "How could you ever hope to fight against humans with guns and machines like that? How long will you last, just using a sword?"   
Anubis opened his mouth to reply, but never got a chance. Talpa himself appeared, the mask hovering in the air. All of the children immediately prostrated themselves on the ground, leaving the red-haired woman conspicuously by herself, standing. The Warlords and Kayura saluted.   
"I have heard your words," he told them. "Their machines are inconsequential. I can control the humans' technology!" Talpa's outline began to glow a bright red. "Watch!"   
The others looked to the mortal world, where they saw whole lines of tanks suddenly switch directions and rumble backwards, and planes just falling out of the sky. "So there's no way they can fight back..." Taia murmured.   
"Were you hoping there was?" the demon lord asked.   
It had been a rhetorical question, but, clenching her fists, Taia yelled, "Yes! The Ronin Warriors will return! They will return and defeat you. You can't hold them back forever! You will make a mistake, and then they'll get you!"   
Sekhmet wanted to shut her up, wanted to keep her from saying such things in front of the Dynasty's emperor. He had learned from experience to seem completely deferential, but she never stopped fighting. He almost admired her for it, in a way. _You fool, do you want to be punished?_ he thought at her.   
She was hit with the energy, driving her to her knees. She gritted her teeth, shuddering under the force, but she did not break.   
"Learn from this example," the apparition said. "When we take this world, there will be no interference. The monk has been halted, and the seer tells me there are no new Ronins. But it is not time yet. These humans may do our work for us."   
"Understood, Master," Dayus said, speaking for all of them. The energy dissipated, and Taia bowed her head silently, taking deep breaths to steel herself. They rang out loudly through the room's total silence.   
"Return to your places, all of you," Talpa said. "All but you, Taia. I wish to have a word with you."   
Sekhmet resisted the urge to shake his head as he teleported. When would the girl learn? 

Talpa bided his time, waiting for the humans to perhaps defeat themselves, kill themselves off. And then peace came, and still he waited. There was no sign of any new Ronins. Victory seemed secure. It was nearly time. And so they waited. Because they had all of eternity to wait, if it was needed.   
  
The time was near. In less than one of the blinkingly fast human years, it would be time to attack, time to take the World of the Mortals. The Warlords prepared for victory. It would be so easy, and then the entire world's energy would be Talpa's to use. The Empire would grow. And then they would move on to the next world and grow some more. The victory would be sweet.   
Sekhmet ran the cloth down the blade of the old sword, polishing until the metal shone to his satisfaction. He nodded almost imperceptibly and stood, returning the sword to its place on the wall, displayed among other weapons of many kinds. It briefly glowed, and he peered quizzically at it for a moment before shoving the thought out of his mind. Sekhmet knew that he'd had the sword since he was young, and that it had been his first weapon, but couldn't remember just when or how he'd acquired it, or why it might glow.   
The metal of his subarmor clanked against one of the spears in a nearby rack, ringing metallically through the utter silence of the dark, weapon-filled room. Sekhmet glanced down in irritation before sending the armor away, now dressed in a plain blue robe. He snatched a cloak from the nearby chair and fastened it around his shoulders, walking toward the huge door.   
Suddenly he stopped and glanced down, hands unconsciously brushing the front of his robe. The familiar weight was missing from his neck, and he glanced around the room quickly.   
Sekhmet finally spotted the mass of gold on a nearby table and picked it up, watching as it twisted out into a green orb on the end of a thick chain. The orb was the size of a large marble and was held in its place by two snakes made of gold. He smiled.   
_Hello, Father,_ he thought with amusement. _Are you awake today? Must be so boring in there, all alone._ Sekhmet chuckled and grasped the pendant's chain with both hands to fasten it around his neck. The orb began to pulsate with a green glow.   
Sekhmet lowered his hands slowly and peered at the small orb in the palm of his hand suspiciously. The golden snakes began to writhe, slithering out from around the orb and twining around Sekhmet's fingers. He jerked back in surprise and tried to pull them away. He felt two sharp pains in his finger, and looked at his hand blankly, as if he was watching this happen to someone else.   
The snakes' fangs were completely buried in his skin, and a sudden burning spread throughout him, starting at those points. Sekhmet felt all the thoughts in his head dissipate, and sank to his knees as the glow of the orb grew brighter. He stared, unable to look away, and the light flared and blinded him, color swirling before his vision.   
Sekhmet saw faces appear before him, people he knew he should recognize, and yet, did not, things he had hidden away for centuries, buried deep within him where he'd thought they could never return from. A black-haired woman with a sharp face and a sneering smile; the man with a dark orange beard and murder in his eyes; the girl who stirred such feelings in him... emotions he couldn't remember ever having felt before. An aching began in Sekhmet's heart, an aching that awakened the memories of all he had wanted to leave, of all he had suffered.   
He tried to close his eyes, to block out the pain, the returning of the hatred he had endured, but found he could not. Sekhmet whispered softly, a sound that hardly broke through the blanket of silence in the room. "No! I don't want this... Father, leave me in peace!"   
He felt anew the lashing of the whip against his back; tried to fight against the angry fist and the biting word; listened to the screams as everything he had known for so long died; heard his own mocking laughter as he killed them all.   
There, kneeling in the darkness of the Dynasty stronghold, Sekhmet remembered... 


	10. Epilogue - The Road

"Snake God"   
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Epilogue - The Road 

It all ended in a flash of green light, and Sekhmet blinked, his mind a swirl of long-forgotten images and sounds. The golden snakes embedded in his fingers stiffened and fell away, and still he looked out into the nothingness, lost in his own past. It wasn't until the orb exploded, spraying him with its crystalline shards, that he gasped violently and flinched backwards.   
A figure came into being amidst the swirling green mist, holding something in its arms. It glowed brighter and brighter as it formed a face and body. Sekhmet covered his stinging eyes, the symbol that had been streaked across his face shining and disappearing, until the light dimmed, and then he looked up and into the eyes of his father.   
Essah silently sank to his knees in front of Sekhmet and watched the play of emotion across his face. _Did it work?_ he wondered, seeing that the Warlord's eyes were once again focused on something only he could see. "Sekhmet," he said out loud, briefly reaching to touch his face, trace the tearstains tracking across it. Every tragedy he had experienced before, he had gone through again, had relived the pain again. For a while, he had become who he had been, before.   
"Why?" he asked hoarsely. "Why did I have to remember? Why did I have to see just how miserably I have failed the one person who mattered to me more than life did? More than death?" His shoulders shook, and he turned his face away.   
"Tell me," Essah prompted. "Tell me how you failed."   
Sekhmet inhaled deeply, not knowing quite how to put what he was feeling into words. "I remember everything Talpa took away from me. I remember how I promised Lyonta I wouldn't join the Dynasty. She saw it, Father, she knew what I would do, everyone I would kill... I remember what I've done, and how much I enjoyed it!" He looked back up. "But I didn't care... I chose to forget my promise after they took her away from me."   
The snake-god smiled gently at him. "I cannot erase the past, my son. I cannot change the things you've done. But I have brought back the memories that Talpa suppressed in you so that you would learn from them. You see what you have become?"   
"Yes," he said bitterly. "I wanted revenge... I wanted to fit in." _I wanted love. I wanted so much that I couldn't have._ "I wanted... I wanted so much, Essah. But I don't think I wanted to be a monster. That was what they all thought I was, and I really lived up to their expectations, didn't I?"   
_We're coming close, I think. Now it's time to cross the line..._ "Sekhmet, you are not a monster. You see what you have done?"   
"Yes," he answered, staring at his father.   
"I have a gift for you," Essah told him, lifting what he had been carrying higher into his arms. Thick green lines spread across her face, the symbol of the bond between them, echoing his own mark once more. "I trust you remember her, too?"   
Sekhmet stared in shock at the small form in Essah's arms. _He was in that orb for four hundred years with a corpse?_ he thought wildly. "Chadih," he said in wonder. "She..." He trailed off as he watched her small chest move with her breathing, felt the quiver of her heartbeat inside his own chest. But he couldn't feel the presence of her mind as he had before. "She's alive..."   
"Yes," Essah replied. "I have brought her back for you."   
"How?" he asked, brushing back the wild strands of her hair to look at her face. Although still very thin, she looked much healthier than she had before.   
The snake-god smiled down at the form of the child in his arms. "When Lyonta died, you called for me to help. I was unable to stop her soul from flying, but I was able to catch that of her unborn child. Your child, Sekhmet. I saved it in case I could not stop you from joining the Dynasty. When I saw how attached you had become to this girl you had found, even after her death, I saw what was to be done."   
Sekhmet closed his eyes, sorting through his new memories. "You put the soul of my child into Chadih's body." _That's why I can't hear her in my mind like before. I'm still bound to the physical form, but not her soul...   
_ "Yes. She is your daughter. But only if you leave the Dynasty. Renounce Talpa and leave this place. Join the light and she will be yours. You are being used. You must choose not to let that happen."   
_Leave the Dynasty... do I really want to? Is it really this easy? _He hid his face in his hands, leaning forward, deciding.   
_Cirian, a singer who looked at a bruised little boy and gave him what no one else would, his first taste of the emotion of love...   
Datai, who had always trusted. The man of honor, even when everything he had known went up in flames...   
Lyonta, her face filled with tenderness. She had accepted him without fear, given without asking for anything in return. Her eyes shone, her every feature embedding itself into his soul...   
General Shoka, who commanded him and served him, looking past his appearance to recognize the skills within...   
Aysanio, who with the gift of a naginata showed that even a demon could be a soldier and a friend...   
Naaza Kaeoda, who would adopt a boy with no family name and make him a lord of men...   
Aoi, who for one night had held him, who gave her freedom, her eternal life, to keep him from the Dynasty...   
Chadih, a starving, forgotten, outcast child who looked to him for her only salvation...   
Unacera, the gaijin he had hunted, whose words had burned into him something that was now becoming clearer...   
_And even Essah. Who, despite years of being ignored and used, despite having motives of his own, would kill and live in an orb for centuries for the redemption of his son._   
_ Sekhmet's hands fell away, a glow beginning in the middle of his forehead and spreading outward, forming a symbol. It glowed with a pulsing light before fading out, giving him a headache. But it felt good, a kind of cleansing headache that he knew would leave him feeling better than before. "Piety," he said softly, opening his eyes.   
The snake-god looked at the Warlord before him, still as stone, waiting for the words that would prove to be the key.   
"I renounce the Dynasty, Essah. I renounce it!"   
Essah smiled at him, but the weight on his soul did not abate. _There is something wrong here... I do not see that the future has changed. The destinies of my people are still bound in slavery... Sekhmet is still bound to darkness... where is the answer?_ Suddenly he flung his head up. "Sekhmet, Talpa will sense something is wrong, and he'll come to reclaim you. You must fight him!"   
His eyes grew worried, his mind trying desperately to come to terms with what he was now doing, with what he was now thinking. "Fight him? Essah, what about you?"   
"Talpa has forgotten about me over the centuries I was in your orb. He now has other servants, other ways of controlling my people. If he catches me then I will be bound to him again, and we will lose everything we've gained!" he said sternly. "Including Chadih!"   
He nodded, standing as Essah did the same. Slowly he traced Chadih's cheekbone with his fingers, smiling at her sleeping form. "You'll have to sleep a while longer, child." He met his father's eyes. "Take her somewhere safe. I'll escape from here and meet you in the mortal world."   
Essah nodded and vanished. Sekhmet felt the energy of the Dynasty move, and turned as Anubis teleported into his room, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his resolve. It would take all he had to escape from here alive. He watched as the other warlord stood and stared at him.   
"Sekhmet," he said irritably, "would you _please_ answer the master's summons? We've been waiting to discuss the takeover, and I'm tired of having to always fetch you like Talpa's disobedient dog!"   
He casually picked up the orb of his armor and used it, changing into his subarmor, and then turned to face the racks of weapons on the wall. "Anubis," he said with a smile, "you can tell your master exactly where to shove his 'takeover'." Sekhmet snatched his old sword away from the wall and spun around. "Just like old times, Anubis. Or don't you remember? Has Talpa taken that away from you, besides your senses?"   
"You've finally gone completely crazy," the Warlord of Cruelty said in amazement. "There's no time for games now. Stop toying with me and come _on_!"   
"As you wish!" he cried gleefully, leaping for the warlord. Anubis raised his arm, the subarmor absorbing the blow, but he was shoved back a few steps. "What's the matter?" Sekhmet taunted, slashing forward again and nicking the red-haired man's cheek. Anubis's eyes were mirrors of confusion and bewilderment as the blood trickled down, not bothering to wipe it away. "Talpa's hold on you must be making you weak!"   
Anubis called his full armor, adjusting his grip on the kusari-gama. "You've turned. I don't know how it happened, but you've gone insane and turned on the Dynasty," he said incredulously. _Dayus, Cale,_ he sent, _Sekhmet's turned traitor! We have to get him for Talpa to deal with!_   
"Fight me!" Sekhmet screamed. "Fight me, you honorless bastard, or call in your poor excuse for an emperor to fight your battles for you! You can't see how you've been used, so I'll have to kill you all! Fight me, damn you!" he cried as the other two Warlords appeared, fully armored, answering Anubis's mental call.   
"What is going on?" Dayus said as Sekhmet laughed hysterically and held up his sword defensively.   
_Ah, so Anubis is afraid to take me on by himself!_ "What's going on?" he grinned in reply. "I don't know!"   
Cale stared at the brown-armored man in shock and disgust. There had been no indication of this sudden change in loyalty in anything he had done or said previously. "Is a spell affecting him?" he wondered out loud.   
"No, only the truth!" Sekhmet yelled, feeling a bit dizzy. All he knew was that he had to get out of the Netherworld somehow. The question, however, was how, exactly, he could do that with the others after him. "Join me, or stand aside, or fight me, come on, I'd love to see you try!"   
"We'll have to stop him," Dayus said, looking thoughtfully at the man who was now facing off against all of them.   
_Yes, restrain him!_ Talpa called into the minds of the three remaining Dark Warlords. _He has been turned somehow, but I can still reclaim him!_   
_As you wish, Master,_ Cale returned, drawing his nodatchi. All of the warlords charged for Sekhmet, who did the best he could to fend them off. He parried a blow from Dayus with his arm, the material of his subarmor absorbing the slash, and jumped back. He knew that they were trying to get him into a corner. He needed his armor, his swords. But there was no room, no time.   
Slicing haphazardly at Anubis, Sekhmet leaped back one more step, focusing as much of his mind as he could spare on the energy net of the Netherworld. He slid back into its force just as the weight of Anubis's kusari-gama went flying through the place he had been. The sight of his chambers faded as the walls of the throne room came into view.   
_Not here!_ he thought immediately, switching his sword to his other hand for a moment. He teleported again, no real destination in mind. And there was still no time... 

As soon as Sekhmet had disappeared, Anubis took charge. "After him!" he bellowed. "Split up! He's not going to get away!"   
The other two Warlords nodded and transported as well, the situation too serious for them to take up any time by arguing over Anubis's authority. Cale, feeling very at home in the energy, closed his eyes and concentrated on any telltale disturbances in the field. He knew Anubis had gone to the main dungeon, and Dayus was now in the stables. But there was no sign of Sekhmet's passing. _He must not be thinking of anywhere in particular, and that's why I can't trace him._   
Cale mentally sighed. They'd have to teleport randomly around with the hopes that one of them would end up in the same room as the traitor. Floating about in the nothingness, the warlord could feel a sudden crackle on the edges of the field. _Talpa's blocked out the Dynasty,_ he realized. _No one can get to the mortal's world. And that should make our job a lot easier._   
The energy made the amplification of thoughtspeak much easier. _Sekhmet,_ Cale thought, _you wanted a fight. I'm more than willing to oblige. Or are you the one who's afraid of _us_?_   
  
He heard Cale's taunts as easily as if the man had been standing next to him and shouting into his ear. He almost spat out a thought-response before catching himself. "I'd fight you," he muttered, "but even if I defeated you I'd still be killed by Talpa or one of the others." _Sorry, Cale, but I'd really like to get out of here more._   
The rapid teleporting was wearing him out, a headache beginning behind his right eye. And he did _not_ like this running for his life. Still, he pulled himself into the transport field once more. This time he could feel the barrier that prevented him from simply going straight to Earth. Not that he would have tried that anyway. There were simply too many opportunities for Talpa to get to him on that kind of trip.   
_It's a good thing I don't have to concentrate to get where I'm going,_ he mused in the split second the trip took, _or my head would probably burst._ The energy dumped him into a somewhat familiar dark hall. His nerves felt taut from all the teleporting, and for some reason one of his knees gave out from under him.   
"Damn," Sekhmet said, struggling upright and looking into the darkness. Newly remembered memories were suddenly sparked, and he gasped in recognition. "The snake-gods!" he cried, running as fast as possible with the pain in his leg down the dimly-lit hall. The door at the end of it could only be used by those of their blood. The demon emperor would be able to come after him, but the Warlords could not.   
_And they'll help me fight Talpa, I know it... I can summon my armor..._ He nearly slammed into the door, but recovered immediately. His breath coming fast, Sekhmet pressed up against the carvings, accessing the special energy field around the stone. _I want to get through here,_ he directed, feeling it slowly pulling him in. 

_There! There!_ Cale suddenly felt the brush of Sekhmet's consciousness as the traitor used the energy to go to one specific place. It came from one place in the field, the one part Cale could not use. And yet there Sekhmet was, and in a moment he would be beyond their reach. Only Talpa could deal with him then, and the Warlords would end up being a disgrace.   
Sending out a call to the others, he concentrated, easily knowing where exactly he needed to go. Like a wolf on the scent, Cale had found his prey. And he was not about to let him go. 

The energy tingled against his face as he began to slide through the door, feeling somewhat comforting. Sekhmet nearly closed his eyes as the cool air started to envelop him.   
Suddenly he knew someone was behind him, but in the middle of transporting he couldn't do anything. An armored hand grabbed onto his hair, violently yanking him back and out of the field. He stumbled back, the grip on his hair the only thing keeping him from falling. His headache soared to new heights.   
Sekhmet lashed back at whoever had him, tearing away and spinning around. Wordlessly, the other Warlord stepped forward and attacked. He swung his old sword with as much force as he could muster, the clang as it hit Cale's nodatchi deafening. With a growl of rage, he attacked again, missing as the Warlord parried with the claws of his armor.   
And then he felt it as the air moved and someone came out of the teleport field behind him, and then once more as Dayus appeared behind Cale. But Cale had pressed his attack, and if he turned to fight Anubis, who had to be back there, he'd be killed or captured. _But what does it matter? I'm dead anyway!_   
Anubis came up behind Sekhmet, moving his weapon forward. He pressed the scythe blade against his neck. The man froze, and Anubis smiled grimly. "That's right, move and you're dead. Talpa will be here in a moment to deal with you, traitor."   
Sekhmet fumed, hearing the smugness in the Warlord of Cruelty's voice. He couldn't let them take him, couldn't let Talpa take away the memories now that he could actually remember them. He tensed slightly, prepared to push back and get away from the blade, but Anubis felt it and was prepared. He pulled the kusari-gama closer, the edge biting into Sekhmet's throat. A small trickle of blood dripped onto the metal and ran down its length.   
He stared straight at Cale and Dayus, relaxing as if in defeat. As his knee ached in pain, an idea sprang into being. _But I'll only get one chance..._   
Anubis chuckled from behind him. "It's a pity I'll have to suffer through fighting by your side against these new Ronins," he said softly into his ear. "What I wouldn't give to be able to kill you now..."   
_You only wish you could kill me, Anubis,_ he thoughtspoke through the link between their armors, the blade against his neck preventing him from speaking.   
"So, still defiant?" he asked. Sekhmet did everything possible not to tense his muscles, not to give away that he was about to try something. There was only one chance... "How does it-" Anubis began, but he was cut off when Sekhmet kicked backwards, his foot connecting with Anubis's knee. The Warlord stumbled back a step, the kusari-gama swinging out as he flailed for balance.   
He used the power in his subarmor to leap up and over the man, the top of his head grazing the ceiling. There was no time to go through the door, but if he could just get his breath back he could start teleporting again.   
The other two had sprung into action the moment he had made his move, and Dayus wrenched his weapon off his back and cast it forward. One of the blades grazed his cheek, and he raised his sword to block the other one that threatened to cut him.   
He still was not able to summon his full armor, backed into a corner, and he was soon overwhelmed, his sword snagging in Dayus's naginatas and wrenching away from his fingers.   
The ancient metal finally snapped, the thousand hairline cracks running along its surface glowing bright green. The pieces clattered to the stone in a shower of green sparks. One more slash, and Sekhmet fell to his knees. He knew that he would not be able to get out of this one.   
Anubis, supremely confident, banished his armor and strolled up to him. He could not stand the look on the other man's face, so full of power and certainty. Sekhmet lunged for him despite his wounds, despite the fact that it was hopeless. _I am not going to be taken alive! They aren't going to take it all away from me again!_   
He reacted quickly, tripping him and throwing him to the ground. Before Sekhmet could move again, the breath knocked out of him, Anubis knelt and put his knee into the small of his back, using his weight to hold him down.   
"Damn you," he growled, trying to push him off. "You are going to pay for this, I swear it!"   
"And who will take the payment from me? It won't be you," he laughed.   
_Master,_ Dayus thought, _Sekhmet has been subdued._   
_Excellent,_ Talpa returned. _I am prepared now to return him to my control._ The image of the spectral mask shimmered into being behind the Warlords. Dayus and Cale turned and saluted as Anubis grabbed onto Sekhmet's hair.   
"Look at your master, traitor," he spat, yanking his head up.   
The pain in his back was terrible... _It feels like he'll break my spine!_ Sekhmet scowled up at the image, trying to ignore the pain, trying to fight it away. "Talpa is not my master anymore!"   
"Don't you understand?" Talpa asked him, a strange note of something like bewilderment in his voice. "I will always be your master." Swirling mists began to coalesce around the red mask, sending the straight white hair flying.   
He knew what was happening, knew that Talpa had come to reclaim his mind, to subjugate him once more so that he could use the power of his armor for Talpa's will. "No," he cried, struggling to pull away. _No, no, no, no, no!_   
"Hold him down," the demon lord ordered.   
Dayus and Cale, having banished their own armor when Anubis did, responded to Talpa's command, grabbing his arms and pressing them to the ground. Dayus put his weight of the back of Sekhmet's shoulder, effectively pinning him. "No!" he yelled once more, feeling absolutely helpless.   
The mist intruded on his mind, laid it bare, and one by one the memories began to slip away. Everything, painful, joy, rage, everything sliding back into the blackness. Faces first held no meaning and then themselves were gone. He tried to hold on, tried to keep things back, tried to hide. But there was nowhere to hide.   
Cale looked down at the prone form, strangely disturbed. He wanted to ask questions, but was hesitant to disturb Talpa in the middle of the procedure. _What is he doing?_   
He looked around at the faces of his fellow Warlords. Anubis was gleeful, clearly enjoying Sekhmet's disgrace. Dayus, on the other hand, showed no emotion at all, except perhaps a slight tension in his jaw. Cale didn't know what to make of the whole situation. He knew that what Talpa was doing was right. But there was still something that struck him as odd about the whole thing. And he couldn't figure out what.   
Focus. Concentration. Sekhmet couldn't let them take it away. Lyonta... he had promised her that... promised... _promised her what? No! There was a blonde man... his name, what was his name... no, this can't be happening, not after all of this!_ He finally just thought of one face, of Lyonta. She smiled at him, green eyes bright and sparkling. He held it there as long as possible, until her image, too, was taken by the blackness. Unable to withstand the mist any longer, he followed after...   
"It is done," Talpa announced suddenly, eyeing the three remaining Warlords. "You may get up now."   
They stood up, leaving Sekhmet unconscious on the floor, and then Cale, saluting, spoke his mind. "What did you do, Master? How were you able to turn him back?"   
"Somehow, several of his memories returned," Talpa replied, "and these must have caused him to rebel. I simply took them." It had taken much of Talpa's energy to subdue the memories in an unwilling mind, and he would need to rest, as it were, before he could erase this incident in the remaining Warlords' minds. It would be easier to get them to agree, however, and thus would take less energy.   
"What do we do with him now?" Dayus wondered.   
"Leave him," Talpa boomed. "He will have returned to us when he awakens. For now, we must return to the throne room and continue our plans for the invasion. The Ronins have arisen and the time of the Shadowlands is upon us. Go."   
The three nodded and bowed. "Yes, my lord," Anubis said, and they vanished, Talpa's shimmery form disintegrating with a low shriek.   
The blue-flamed torches in the hall flickered with his departure, dimly illuminating the form on the floor. Today, his blood trickled down to form stains on his pale skin. Soon, he would cause blood to flow.   
But the promise was not left unbroken. The destiny could still be fulfilled. And although Sekhmet could not have known it, his shoulders shared a portion of the burden of the world.   
Something had begun. 

_This tale be done, but the story goes on. For, from every ending, comes another new beginning... _


End file.
